


coffee's for closers

by bropunzeling



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:19:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1735964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bropunzeling/pseuds/bropunzeling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Thursday night where Sid’s life takes a U-turn starts with him cleaning the steamer wand for the fifty-second time in a row.</p><p>[or; the seattle au]</p>
            </blockquote>





	coffee's for closers

**Author's Note:**

> first: thanks to accidentally melted and michaud, who are champions and delights that hung out and did a stellar job of betaing and cheerleading. they are the bomb dot com. i love them. second: this fic has some always a cisgirl stuff, because ladies gotta be around. the main one is flower, but you'll know them when you see them. third: this fic is nothing but a love letter. seattle, you keep doing you.
> 
> title from the fall out boy song of the same name.

The Thursday night where Sid’s life takes a U-turn starts with him cleaning the steamer wand for the fifty-second time in a row.

It’s not that Sid doesn’t like his job. Managing to get a gig at the [U Village Starbucks](http://globalassets.starbucks.com/assets/7597a4ce40054842b875218739fb966a.jpg) isn’t exactly a fucking picnic, especially since it’s probably the second busiest Starbucks in the entire metropolitan area, or at least, it definitely feels like it is. There’s always a small but loyal contingent of students studying mixed in with the dozens of upper-middle class moms looking for yoga pants at Lululemon and artistes who aren’t quite ready to stop drinking corporation coffee. Even with the busyness, though, Sid likes his job. He always has pretty good coworkers and he’s making money to help pay for rent and textbooks, and it could be worse – there’s always flipping burgers.

Still, he’d _really_ appreciate it if Duper would stop scheduling him for the 8 to 1 AM shift. Just because he doesn’t have 8 AMs doesn’t mean he wants to be fucking working all night.

It’s just after eleven, most of the stores in the Village having shut down for the evening, and Sid’s stuck cleaning machinery, wishing Flower would stop singing along to her terrible work playlist, when the guy walks in.

Okay, Sid isn’t blind. There are plenty of hot people at UW, plenty of hot people in Seattle in general. He lives in the U district, for fuck’s sake. Hot people are everywhere. Something about this guy, though, catches his attention. Maybe it’s the hair curling slightly. Maybe it’s the slightly droopy eyes. Maybe it’s how this guy is at least 6’3”, long and lean. Whatever it is, it makes Sid stop in his tracks, walking over to the cash register and awkwardly getting out, “How can you — I mean, how can I help you?” flushing at the sound of his own voice.

"Hi," the guy replies, voice accented and incredibly deep. "I have vanilla latte?"

"Uh, yeah," Sid says, "What size?"

The guy frowns, considering. “Medium?”

"Right, a grande vanilla latte," Sid corrects — fucking workplace language policies — and scribbles down the order on the paper cup. "Can I — what’s your name?"

"Evgeni," the guy replies.

"Evgeni." Sid repeats, blushing as he mangles it completely. "How do you spell that?"

"Um," the guy replies, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, "Maybe better if use nickname. Easier."

"Sure, yeah," Sid says, feeling flustered. "Does Geno work?"

The guy beams at him. “Geno great,” he says, his smile lighting up his entire fucking face. Sid is pretty sure that the sound he hears over the incessant Justin Timberlake is Flower laughing at him, but even as his face burns he can’t help smiling back.

“Awesome,” he says, turning to look down at the coffee. “Anything else?”

“No,” Geno replies, pulling out a couple crumpled bills and passing over a five. As Sid rings him up and counts change, he can hear Geno humming a little, bobbing his head slightly to the music, which switched from JT to one of Flower’s newest acquisitions – Beyoncé, he thinks.

When he passes back Geno’s change, Geno gives him another big smile, and it just isn’t fair. Those smiles should be labeled dangerous weapons or something, because Sid isn’t prepared to deal with them. Not that there haven’t been hot customers before, or that Geno is even objectively all that hot, but something about him makes Sid feels flustered.

“Just wait by the counter,” he says finally, when he’s able to get his vocal cords working again. “I’ll have your drink ready in just a moment.”

“Thank you,” Geno replies, wandering over to the counter, and Sid absolutely does not stare at his ass, because that would be rude and also it’s unrealistic to think about customers like that, no matter how spectacular said ass may be. Instead, he gets to work on making coffee.

As he’s just about to finish making Geno’s coffee, milk steamed and vanilla syrup already pumped into the paper cup, Flower emerges from whatever she was doing – Sid doesn’t like to ask – to grab empty pitchers and lean against the counter. “Checking out the customers? That’s a workplace no-no, Sidney.”

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time Vero comes in,” Sid replies, staring very carefully at where he’s pouring in the espresso. Coffee takes time and requires perfection.

Flower squawks at him. “Excuse you, Sid, it doesn’t count if it’s _Vero_. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Sid parrots, putting the final touch of milk foam on the top of the latte. “Here you go,” he continues, sliding the cup across the counter for Geno, who’s been texting as he waits.

“Thank you,” Geno says again, his accent thickening consonants. It sounds nice, distracting Sid enough that he forgets to let go of the cup until Geno gently pulls it away.

When Sid still stares after Geno for a few seconds as he goes to finally find a table, Flower smacks him with a dishtowel. “Go bring me some Pike’s Place,” she tells him, and Sid, wincing from the hit, goes to go throw some sacks of beans around.

-

Sid’s splitting an apartment with a guy named Paul. It’s a pretty good deal – Paul’s a grad student, so he isn’t interested in throwing massive parties, and he’s always cooking, which is pretty fucking awesome. Sid tends to bring him beans and tumblers from work as thanks.

The only really weird thing is that Paul’s friend – well, “friend”, Sid doesn’t really want to know or ask – James is over all the fucking time, which, well. Sid just likes to think he has two roommates instead of one.

“Hey Sid,” James calls from the living room as Sid closes the front door behind him, having just gotten out of his Sub-Saharan Africa history class, “what’s up?”

Sid peeks his head in to find James staring avidly at the TV, which is playing what might be _Toddlers & Tiaras_. He can’t be sure. There’s an open textbook next to him on the sofa, but Sid would bet that James had barely even scanned the words before flipping between TV channels.

“Uh, good,” Sid finally replies, unable to help frowning a little. “Don’t you have a huge midterm coming up or something?”

“Eh,” James hums, sounding cheerfully unconcerned, “it’s just Micro, supply and demand, find the x, all that shit. No big deal.”

“Right,” Sid says after a moment, nodding awkwardly before heading to his own room down the hall.

He wastes time for a while, reading the news, watching a few highlights of the Sounders game from last week. Taylor has emailed him with a link to a couple of cat videos, so he sends back those talking animal shorts from BBC. Underneath the link he asks how she’s doing now that she’s in high school, if she’s keeping up with her homework, how her soccer team’s doing. _Love you_ , he finishes with, and for a minute he misses her snapping her gum and telling him he’s an idiot every five seconds.

He tries to do the reading for his class on the Cold War, and when he can’t concentrate on that, he goes over his advisor’s emails about possible internships. No matter how hard he tries, though, he can’t seem to focus, and he spends the last of his time right before work dicking around on the internet, watching Taylor’s dumb cat videos and then, when that isn’t enough, clips from last night’s _Daily Show_.

Finally, it’s time for him to catch the bus, and he pulls on his windbreaker and toes on his work shoes. As he walks through the apartment, he spies Paulie coming out of the kitchen, giving Sid a quick wave.

“Have a good day, yeah?” Paulie says, thumping Sid on the shoulder before heading off to the living room to go be weird about James, and Sid nods.

“See you,” he says, and puts his ear buds in as he heads out the door and to the bus stop.

-

The guy — Geno — comes in again right at the beginning of Sid’s shift. He has a stack of textbooks and a harried expression, and Sid ignores the look Flower gives him as he gets in front of the cash register.

"Hi," Sid says, and Geno blinks at him. "What would you like?"

"Um," Geno replies, juggling textbooks to grab his wallet, "Vanilla latte?"

"Grande okay?" Sid asks, and Geno nods as he pulls out a five.

"That great. Thank you," he says, passing over the money, and Sid gives him a quick grin.

"No problem Geno," he says, ringing Geno up. When he looks up from the register, Geno’s staring at him.

"You remember me?"

"Um," Sid stalls, feeling his cheeks heating up but ignoring it to pass Geno back his change. "I mean, yes?"

"Oh," Geno replies, dropping a one in the tip jar, but he offers Sid another one of his crooked smiles, the kind that makes his whole face seem bright, and Sid can barely stammer out a thank you.

As he moves to get Geno’s coffee going, Flower leans over from where she was washing out the steaming pitchers and says, voice low, “Going for the international students eh? I _knew_ you were into the tall ones.”

"Shut up," Sid hisses back, starting up the espresso machine. "You’re dating Vero, you have no room to talk."

"Quebec isn’t really international," Flower protests, but Sid ignores her in favor of steaming milk.

After a second of thought, Sid adds a smiley face next to the Geno he’d already written in sharpie on the cup, and makes sure to add a leaf pattern when he pours out the milk. It’s not that Geno will see it, what with the lid and everything, but still, it feels nice doing it all the same.

“Here you go,” he says, passing the cup along the bar, and Geno smiles at him in thanks.

Sid knows it’s ridiculous to keep an eye on Geno, watching as he scouts out a table and spreads his stuff around on the hardwood, but he does it anyways. Still, he can’t exactly spend his entire shift staring at the customers, so instead he busies himself with mopping up espresso spills for what feels like the thousandth time.

Flower punches him lightly on the shoulder as she passes. “Go lift some of the bags of Sumatra. Show off those guns,” she offers, and Sid groans.

“Fuck off, Flower,” he tells her, but Flower just laughs at him and goes off to handle the mom coming in with a screaming toddler, because she somehow manages to simultaneously be the worst and best person Sid knows.

-

He sees Geno again a lot over the next few weeks. Almost every shift sees Geno at one of the tables in the corner, poring over textbooks while forgetting that his coffee even exists. When Sid’s pulling out pastries or forever cleaning countertops, he can’t help sneaking glances over at Geno’s table.

It’s not that Sid doesn’t pay attention to his other regulars. There’s the girls in Theta who always come in together, the taller one who orders a chai and the blonde one who orders caramel macchiatos, who have a tendency to smile at the backs of each other’s heads. Paulie’s friend Brooke comes by pretty often – she’s working on her thesis in Psychology with a minor in Communications, and always asks about Sid’s day. It’s not all college students either – there’s the one woman who works at the Pottery Barn who always orders as dry a cappuccino as possible and then complains that it’s not dry enough, or the guy who comes in to write his Great American Novel but mostly searches for inspiration in the bottom of his Americano. Sid’s learned dozens of people’s names and coffee orders out of sheer necessity.

Still, something about Geno keeps catching Sid’s eye, makes him want to know more about him, but Sid doesn’t know how to bridge the difference. He’s not the type to hit on customers – he’s mastered the art of being personable enough to know regulars and get tips, but he’s never had one he’s wanted to know outside of the bounds of the shop.

Geno, though – Geno feels different. Seeing him and talking to him does something stupid to Sid’s heart rate, and while he’s gotten better at covering, he can’t shake the desire to know Geno better. There’s still the attraction burning in Sid’s stomach, but it’s mostly been replaced by how much Sid _likes_ Geno, likes the way he’s quietly sarcastic and cutting and how his eyes light up whenever a little kid comes running into the shop. Sid wants to see him outside of Starbucks and its population of aspiring writers and caffeine junkie students, see him dashing under awnings to escape the rain and studying and at the movies. Sid wants to know exactly how to make Geno laugh.

Still, he doesn’t want to lose the little that he has, so instead of saying anything, he just keeps drawing smiley faces next to Geno’s name and making latte art Geno’ll never see. It’s an easy equilibrium, nothing too out of the ordinary – and if Sid likes to see the smile on Geno’s face when he notices the doodles and takes the first sip of his latte, well. No one has to know.

-

The next customer coming in slams the door harder than usual, and Sid glances up, preparing to politely yell, when he sees Geno following the guy inside. They’re chatting loudly, and Sid can’t help thinking Geno looks utterly exasperated as they finally make it up to the counter.

“Hi,” Sid says warily, and the new guy turns to look at Geno.

“So, Zhenya,” he says, sounding far too enthusiastic for ten at night, “this is your coffee boy, yes?”

Sid feels his cheeks burning, and Geno punches the guy in the shoulder.

“Is not ‘coffee boy.’ Is Sidney.”

“Sidney,” the guy says, turning back around to flash Sid a huge, gap-toothed smile. “I am Alex, one of Zhenya’s only friends –“

“And a liar,” Geno cuts in, shouldering Alex out of the way so he can reach the counter. “Sorry Sid, he hit head when baby, is very stupid.”

“You love me,” Alex replies cheerfully. “Now you buy me coffee, yes?”

With a sigh, Geno turns to Sid, the long-suffering expression on his face almost making Sid laugh. “Make very strong, had to deal with all day.”

“For sure,” Sid says, grabbing a cup. “The usual?”

“Please,” Geno replies, flashing Sid a grin before turning to Alex. “What you want?”

Alex considers the board for a moment, stroking his chin in thought and making exaggerated humming noises. “Latte,” he finally decides, nodding at Sid.

“Make decaf,” Geno says to Sid, and Alex socks him in the shoulder.

“You do this to best friend? Cruel, cruel man,” he replies, but Geno just shrugs.

“Not want you all –“ he waves his hands around.

“I can do only one shot?” Sid asks, and Geno nods at him, even as Alex pulls the most ridiculous expression Sid’s ever seen – and he knows Flower and Duper, for fuck’s sake.

“Cruel,” Alex says sadly, but he moves out of the way so Geno can pass over his cash.

“Sorry,” Geno says, voice low as he hands over a ten. “Alex normally not this –“ he pauses, grimacing.

“It’s fine,” Sid replies, counting out Geno’s change. “I mean, it’s cool to meet some of your friends, yeah?”

“Not this friend,” Geno says darkly. At the sound of that, Alex shoulders his way over, giving Sid another exaggerated once-over. Sid instantly feels self-conscious about his uniform – not that he _should_ , considering it’s required, but the black t-shirt he grabbed today still has a few bleach stains from rogue mopping and his baseball cap is a lot more creased than the other one.

“I like this one,” Alex declares, grinning gap-toothed at Sid. “You can keep him, Zhenya.”

Geno grimaces at him. “Is not your decision,” he tells Alex firmly.

Still, when they pick out a table, Alex waggles his eyebrows at Sid, who can’t help bristling a little.

Sid spends the rest of his shift lifting heavy shit. When he tries to complain about lugging around ten-pound bags of beans, Julie just lifts an eyebrow. “You’re strong,” she says, wiping down counters. “You can handle it.”

That still doesn’t explain why suddenly all of the weird blonde roast has to be moved right the fuck now, but Julie’s raised eyebrow brooks no argument, and Sid carries on slinging bags around instead of chatting with customers or doing his normal cleaning routine.

After the sixth time he has to pass Geno and Alex’s table, Alex coughs, enough to startle Sid out of concentrating on not dropping the beans. “Can I help you?” he huffs, hefting the bag a little higher in his arms.

Alex smiles at him. It’s more than a little bit frightening. “Sid work out a lot? Looks like – big muscles.” He nods towards Sid’s arms and waggles his eyebrows. The combination of that and the missing tooth freaks out Sid a little more than it should.

“Uh – not really?” Sid shrugs, holding the beans a little higher. “I do intramural soccer in the spring, but uh, not much else.” With that, he shuffles away as quickly as possible.

When he looks back over his shoulder, Alex is leaning in to whisper something to Geno, whose ears are bright red. Sid very deliberately doesn’t think about why that’d be the case, instead putting the beans away and heading back to deal with a gaggle of teenage girls who want lo-fat frappuccinos while Julie’s prepping some office guy’s coffee run.

He definitely doesn’t stare after Geno and Alex when they leave, and definitely doesn’t wave back at Geno when Geno waves at him. He doesn’t, and Julie can just stop making those exasperated sighing noises at him.

-

“Coffee free today?”

Sid looks up from where he’s wiping off a hazelnut latte gone wrong to find Geno standing in front of the register, staring at the chalkboard art Tanner had put up last night. The picture of [Oba](http://obaamartins.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/ObafemiMartins-ISIPhotos.jpg) isn’t necessarily beautiful, but the “Discount if wearing Sounders colors!” is still pretty visible, which is better than when they let Duper do the chalk art.

“Well, not free,” Sid admits, leaning against the counter. “But cheaper for sure. It’s a big game today after all.”

“Who play?” Geno asks.

“We’re playing the Timbers,” Sid says, and by the way Geno laughs at him, he wasn’t exactly successful at keeping his disdain out of his voice. “Are you going to watch?”

Geno shrugs, pulling out his wallet. “Maybe. Not best, but, Seattle not have hockey. Must make do with bad sport.”

Sid wrinkles his nose at him, taking the cash and punching numbers into the register. “Don’t talk like that. Do you want the entire city to go after you? Because they will.”

“I take them,” Geno replies, sticking out his tongue and grinning. “I strong, fast. You all are weak. Too much rain.”

“Fuck you, we are not,” Sid protests, but he can’t help giggling even as he hands back Geno’s change. “I bet I can take you.”

“Sure,” Geno says, laughing a little. “You so strong from, what, making coffee? Is no contest.”

“Hey, making coffee isn’t all I do,” Sid insists, but Geno’s laughter is infectious, and it’s pretty much impossible for Sid to keep a straight face. “Sometimes I write papers. Like tonight.”

“You not watch game?” Geno asks, following Sid as he walks down the bar to start pouring shots.

“No, I have a paper on Soviet history due soon, so not unless I manage to get enough done on that,” Sid admits, carefully steaming milk. “Still, I'm sure the Sounders will win.”

“Want bet?” Geno asks, waggling his eyebrows. “I watch game, cheer for Timbers.”

“Don’t you dare,” Sid tells him, trying to sound admonishing but pretty much failing at it. “I won’t make you coffee if you do.”

Geno’s frown is almost cartoonish in how big it is, even as Sid finishes off his latte and hands it over. “Sid must make coffee,” he says, clutching the paper cup to his chest. “I fall asleep, fail classes if don’t.”

“Fine,” Sid sighs, but he breaks his exasperated expression with a grin. “I mean, I’ll always make you coffee if you need it.”

“Then will always need,” Geno says, beaming at Sid. Then, with a nod and a wave, he walks over to find a table to sit at, spreading out his textbooks and getting down to work.

“Sid!” Sid hears, and turns to find Christine making a face at him. “You have customers waiting.”

Sid grimaces and slides over to back behind the register. “Sorry Kuni,” he says, right before turning and plastering a smile for the yoga mom who’s crossing her arms as she looks at the menu. “How can I help you?”

Even as the yoga mom takes a deep breath and goes right into what she wants – “half-caf non-fat latte, two pumps of sugar-free vanilla” – Sid’s eyes slide right over to where Geno’s working, and he almost has to pinch himself to focus back on yoga mom and her overly complicated order. It only takes the mom’s last-minute addition of extra-hot, please, that finally snaps Sid out of it.

Still, he spends the rest of his shift looking over at Geno’s table every so often, even as Christine laughs at him and makes him sort Via packages, which, Sid probably deserves it, but still. It’s hard not to look.

-

That weekend it’s raining. Of course it’s fucking raining — it’s Seattle in fall, the clouds moodily switching between dousing cars and parting to show single rays of sunshine before closing again. Sid spends half of his bus ride to work miserable, one of his shoes victim to a huge puddle by the construction site on Broadway. He’s pretty pissed off by the time he makes it into work, Julie giving him a sympathetic shoulder punch before heading home.

When he makes it to behind the counter, pulling his apron over his head, he looks out to find Geno sitting at one of the tables by the windows facing the parking lot, the lights strung between the trees glowing through the glass behind him. It makes him look illuminated.

After serving a couple of sorority girls getting geared up for their midterms, Sid looks up to find Geno smiling at him, holding out his cup. ”Refill?” he asks, voice lilting. “Just drip. Need more for study.”

"House blend okay?" Sid asks, and when Geno nods, he sticks the cup under the dispenser, ringing Geno up for the fifty-cent charge. "How’s the studying going?"

Geno huffs out a breath, running his hand through his hair. It makes it stand up, and Sid spends a solid five seconds willing himself not to pat it down. “Hard,” he replies. “Want to be vet, must pass biology, chemistry. Difficult to translate.”

"Ugh," Sid says with feeling, "that has to be awful. I can barely do chemistry and I speak English, so."

Geno smiles at Sid, quirking his lips a little. “What you study then?”

"History," Sid replies, grabbing Geno’s cup and giving him a new lid. "Mostly military stuff."

"So you write lots then, are good at it?" Geno asks, and Sid shrugs.

"I’m okay," he replies, and Geno laughs — not really mockingly, but soft, almost pleased.

"Sure you great. Better than me," he replies, and Sid bites his lip.

"No, I mean, I’m sure you’re great! You’ve obviously worked really hard," he rambles, taking the change Geno offers him and dropping it in the register.

"Is okay, I know you not want to hurt feelings. Maybe should ask for help, yes? You make me coffee, help with English, is good deal for me," Geno replies, poking his tongue out of his mouth.

Sid surprises himself by saying, “I mean, if you wanted, I could.” As soon as he says it, he flushes, busying himself with arranging the tip jar.

"Serious?" Geno asks, and the tone of his voice makes Sid look up to see Geno looking almost hopeful. "Would really appreciate."

"I — I mean, if you want me to," Sid says, and Geno nods.

"Yes, do want," he says, and Sid has to smile at him.

"It’s a deal."

-

James is sitting in the living room as per usual, watching what looks like yet another trashy reality show and eating what might be Paulie’s homemade cheddar biscuits. When Sid drops his bag in the doorway, James turns, craning his neck so he can see over the back of the couch, and then gapes. “Sid? You brought a friend over?”

“Uh,” Sid says, glancing over at Geno, who’s still looking around the living room. “Yeah, uh, James, this is Geno. I’m helping him with his English.”

“Geno, huh?” James bounds up off the couch and sticks out a hand. “Hi, Geno, I’m James. Nice to meet you.”

Geno looks a little startled, but after a few seconds, he takes James’ hand. “Nice to meet.”

They all walk over to the couch, where Nealer thankfully turns off his stupid show. Sid was half expecting to have to move to the kitchen or his bedroom just so that they wouldn’t be bothered, but James is being almost weirdly considerate.

Of course, Sid’s opinion totally changes when James starts asking Geno questions. “So, G,” he says, gesturing at Geno with a biscuit, “how’d you get to know this guy anyways? Did Sid talk your ear off about the Sounder’s offense or something and you couldn’t escape?”

“James,” Sid hisses, but Geno just looks mildly offended on Sid’s behalf.

“Sid very nice, help me when I come for coffee,” he replies, giving James a look. “Said he help with words, terms.”

“Oh, he’s going to _help_ you, huh,” James says, and Sid has to cut off that train of thought right the fuck now.

“Which is why you need to either shut up or go away,” he tells James firmly, putting on his sternest expression.

James scoffs. “I’m not going to throw you guys off your game! Maybe I’ll do some studying too, huh?”

“Only if you’ll shut the fuck up,” Sid replies, nodding to Geno so he’ll start pulling out his notebooks. After pulling a pouty face, Geno relents, spreading his notes and textbooks around him.

They start by making flashcards. James may be pulling faces at them, but Sid holds to his convictions that flashcards a) are the best things ever and b) have to be done perfectly, or else they aren’t as effective.

“Look, Sid, we get you’re incredibly anal, but like, do you have to be like that about color-coding? It’s just highlighters, man,” James comments.

Sid doesn’t bother to look up and see whatever face James is making at him while he blatantly doesn’t do his reading for whatever class he’s in – something about architecture and political theory that Sid doesn’t even pretend to understand. He’s got highlighting to focus on. “It’s a system, dumbass. It’s all about associations.”

“What is this even for?” James asks, and when Sid looks up, he’s almost draped on top of Geno looking at the textbooks, which pisses Sid off more than it should.

“Anatomy,” Geno tells him solemnly, pulling one of his hangdog faces.

“Here,” Sid says, cutting off whatever James is going to ask by handing Geno the finished stack of flashcards. “Do these look okay?”

Geno flips through them, offering Sid one of his goofy smiles. “Yes, okay. We do quiz now?”

“Yeah,” Sid replies, taking the flashcards back from Geno. Their fingers brush slightly, doing something weird to Sid’s heartbeat before he pulls away.

Of course, Geno then decides to scoot closer to Sid, enough so that their legs are touching, all while James waggles his eyebrows at both of them over Geno’s shoulder. “We start?”

“Oh,” Sid babbles, “right, yeah.” He flips through the cards without really looking at them, picking one at random. “Definition or term first?”

Geno screws up his face as he thinks, finally sighing and saying, “Term. Do hard stuff first.”

“Okay,” Sid says, looking at the card. “Define ‘femur’.”

They get through about half the stack before Geno taps out, sliding back against the couch and groaning. “Head hurts,” he groans.

“I guess we did do a lot,” Sid concedes, shuffling up the stack and leaving them on top of Geno’s notebook. “Did that help at all? I know I’m shit at biology, so –“

“Was great,” Geno replies quickly, turning his head enough so he can look at Sid. “You really help a lot.”

Sid blinks. “Well, um – I mean, that’s good then.”

They’re stuck staring at each other, and – it’s not awkward, not really, but it’s also making Sid think things he’s been trying to tamp down, so it’s probably good that James is his regular annoying self and interrupts them.

“Not that I want to bother you two,” he says, making an indescribably stupid face at Sid where Geno can’t see it, “but if you’re done with the studying, can I turn the TV back on? I’ve done enough studying to count for at least a week.”

“That just says something about how much you study,” Sid snaps back, but Geno looks a lot more thoughtful.

“Animal Planet?” he asks, making a pleading face at Sid, like he knows Sid will just give in. Which, well, isn’t necessarily wrong, but Sid is trying to keep things on-task here.

“Fuck yeah we can!” James shouts before Sid can override anything, grabbing for the remote and switching on the TV. “Sid’s cool with that, right?”

“Right,” Sid says weakly, and Geno grins at both of them.

“Good, animals best,” he says cheerfully, settling back into the couch and kicking up his feet on the coffee table, stretching his arms over the back of the couch so his hands rest on both Sid and James’ shoulders.

It takes James a ridiculous amount of time to find the right channel, leaving them with what looks like an entire documentary on lion cubs in Kenya, but Sid can’t exactly say anything, because he’s too busy fighting the urge to either pull away from Geno’s hand and lean into it. In the end, he doesn’t do anything, and focuses blankly on the screen.

At least the lions are disgustingly cute.

-

It isn’t until the first week of October that Sid finally has a day off on the weekend, a rare enough occurrence that he decides to take a maintenance day, which means sleeping in until noon and doing exactly none of his work.

Of course, this plan gets derailed when he wakes up to his phone buzzing with a message from the number Geno punched into his phone about a week ago. _sid free today? need study (((_

 _yeah sure_ , Sid painstakingly types back. _what do you want to do?_

_too nice to stay in dorm. we go place?_

Sid frowns, wondering where exactly to take Geno. It really is beautiful out – the sun is shining just enough to fool you into thinking it’s warm, the leaves of the oaks and birches dotting sidewalks turning red and gold among the green needles of the pines. It’s almost too warm to do anything, and, well. If they fail at studying in favor of just hanging out somewhere, Sid’s not exactly going to complain about it.

 _meet at capital hill at one or so?_ he asks, frowning at the keys. _we can work in the park._

Sid’s barely sent the message when he gets a reply. _)))))))_

Sid doesn’t think he needs to bring anything, so around noon he makes a quick sandwich and pulls on an old worn soccer sweatshirt before heading to the Metro stop. The weather’s held, still warm and sun shining in an almost cloudless sky, one of the most beautiful days to ever happen to Seattle in fall. Not even the bus ride seems that bad, as the starts and stops are somehow less bumpy than usual.

When Sid steps off the bus, tugging his baseball cap on to cut down on the glare, he doesn’t see Geno around, so he leans against one of the walls checking up on texts from Flower and Brook until the next bus comes in about five minutes later.

Geno comes off the bus looking around, and Sid calls out, “Geno!”, almost waving but then thinking better of it -- he doesn’t really want to look like a total dork.

“Hi Sid,” Geno says with a smile, stepping forward so he can walk with Sid, “where we study?”

“Over in [Cal Anderson](http://www.seattle.gov/Parks/_images/parks/anderson/walking.jpg),” Sid says. He has to crane his neck a little just to look Geno in the face, lengthen his strides just to keep in step. “It’s like, a block that way.“

True to form, it looks like almost the entire population of Capitol Hill is out at the park, with people playing Ultimate and playing shit on acoustic guitars, everyone eager to take advantage of the sunshine before it disappears entirely. Sid and Geno stake out a spot as far away from the aspiring musicians as possible, Sid pulling off his sweatshirt so he can use it as a pillow on the grass.

“Flashcards?” Geno asks, waving the stack at Sid. Sid groans but nods, taking the cards from him and rifling through them, holding up a hand to block out the sun.

They lay around together, Geno sitting up braced on his palms and Sid lying in the grass, feeling the sun warm his face. The grass brushes against the backs of his calves, toes curling in the dirt as the sunshine and the soft low tones of Geno’s voice lull him into tired complacency. Eventually even Geno trails off, flopping back so his head is even with Sid’s, and together they look up at the sky, watching small clouds and hearing the ambient noise of cars driving past and people chatting.

“This your favorite park?” Geno asks, and Sid blinks a little, startled out of the doze he had settled into.

“No,” he says, turning his head slightly so he can see Geno’s face. It’s closer than he expected. “I like Green Lake better, but it’s not worth it to go there until spring.”

“Why?” Geno asks, and Sid hums, trying to think of an answer even as the sun lulls him into a doze.

“It’s just better when it’s warm, you know? There’s the ducks, and you can go swimming – I don’t know. It’s nicer then,” Sid mumbles, wondering how rude it would be to just fall asleep out here.

Sid’s just about ready to drift off when Geno’s voice stops him. “We go?” he asks, voice mixing with the sound of someone covering “Wonderwall” and the shouts from the basketball court.

Sid shifts up on his elbows so he can see Geno better – his hair is sticking up, rumpled from laying on the grass, and while the aviators would make anyone else Sid knows look like a douche, on Geno they look weirdly charming. Watching him makes something stick in Sid’s throat, forcing him to swallow.

“Yeah,” he says finally, voice still a little rough. “Yeah, we can go there.”

“Good,” Geno mumbles. “You take me good places, yes?”

Sid nods, the dryness in his throat almost too much for him to speak around. “I’ll do that,” he finally agrees, flopping back against the grass and staring up at the sky.

They stay out there for a while, not even talking to one another, the breeze ruffling Sid’s hair and the grass underneath. It isn’t until Sid’s afraid he really will fall asleep out here that he sits up, stretching up and wincing at the popping of his back. After a few seconds, he pokes at Geno’s arm, making Geno groan.

“No,” Geno mumbles, curling away from Sid. The grass has left marks all up and down his calves and his hair has a couple of clover leaves stuck in it and Sid’s torn between staring and laughing. Eventually he can’t tamp down his giggles, though, and Geno sits up all the way, a grumpy expression on his face that just makes Sid laugh even harder.

“You look ridiculous,” Sid wheezes in between giggles, and Geno pouts at him.

“You _mean_ ,” Geno complains, poking Sid back in the stomach, but that just sets Sid off again. He can’t keep down the laughter bubbling up, and after a few seconds, Geno joins him.

“So,” Sid starts, once they’ve both calmed down, “Do you want to go get something to eat or something? There’s an ice cream place near here that’s amazing.”

“Ice cream?” Geno repeats, looking intrigued. “What kind?”

“The good kind,” Sid says back, laughing again at the face Geno makes. “Come on, let’s go. You’ll like it.”

He pushes himself to his feet, offering out a hand, and when Geno takes it, he yanks him up. When Sid stumbles a little – he didn’t realize Geno was so light – Geno laughs at him, chuckling harder when Sid glares back.

“Come on,” Sid repeats, almost huffy, but he can’t stay mad at Geno, not really, because even Geno being an asshole manages to be funny instead of dickish. “It’s just over here.”

They pick up their backpacks and walk together across the park back to Pine Street, dodging the shitty Seattle drivers to make it over to [Molly Moon’s](https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3384/3477726598_06f44ab835.jpg). The line is out the door, which is pretty typical even for October, but they make it inside within five minutes. Geno stares at the list of flavors in chalk above the registers, frowning slightly as he reads it over.

“Too many,” he whines, looking down at Sid and mock-frowning. “Hard to choose.”

“Well,” Sid says evenly, hands in his cargo short pockets, “all of them are good, so it can’t be that hard a choice.”

“What you get?” Geno asks, looking back up at the board.

“The mint one,” Sid answers, nodding to where it says Scout Mint right above the Honey Lavender.

Geno hums, still reading over the flavors. Occasionally Sid sees him sound things out under his breath, but most of it Geno seems to get, and Sid gets filled with an irrational amount of pride at how far Geno’s coming.

Finally they make it up to the counter, and the cheerful girl on duty smiles toothily at both of them. “Welcome to Molly Moon’s! Do you guys want to sample anything?” she asks.

“I know what I want – Geno? Do you want to sample anything?” Sid asks, turning to look at Geno over his shoulder.

Geno blinks, frowning at the menu. “Hard to choose,” he says, and it gets a laugh out of the cashier. “Can try lavender?”

“Of course!” The cashier hands Geno a sample spoon, and Sid can’t exactly tear his eyes away from Geno wrapping his lips around it, licking the top one when part of it smears there.

“Is good!” Geno exclaims, looking at Sid.

“I – yeah, I told you,” Sid says, voice a little strangled.

Geno beams at him before turning back to the cashier. “Can have scoop of this?” he asks, and the cashier girl grins at both of them.

“No problem. And for you?” she asks, looking at Sid, who still feels a little bit blind-sided.

“Um,” he stutters, finally managing to tear his eyes away from Geno. “One scoop of the mint, please.”

“Coming right up,” the cashier tells them, humming to herself as she puts together their order.

Sid manages to make it to the cash register before Geno does, waving away Geno’s wallet as he pulls out a crumpled twenty. “I got this, it’s fine,” he says, still feeling the flush from earlier crawling up the back of his neck, and Geno shrugs and smiles easily.

“Thanks, Sid,” Geno says, taking his ice cream and heading towards the seats by the windows.

As Sid waits for the cashier to hand back his change, she smiles at him. “You two look cute together,” she says cheerfully, counting out ones and passing over a mess of coins and bills. “First date?"

“I -- uh, no,” Sid babbles. “We’re not -- it isn’t -- we’re just friends. You know.”

“Oh,” she replies, flushing a little. “Well, um, have a nice day then.”

“You too,” Sid says, shoving his wallet back in his pocket and grabbing his ice cream.

When he makes his way over to the seats, Geno looks up from his phone and grins at him. “Thanks for buy,” he says, a smear of ice cream right at the corner of his mouth. Sid wants to reach out and wipe it away. “Is very good.”

“You’re welcome,” Sid says, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from Geno’s mouth and concentrate on eating his own ice cream. Still, not even the taste of Thin Mints can totally distract him from watching Geno swipe at his lower lip with a thumb, which just leads to thoughts about how huge Geno’s hands are, which Sid has to hurriedly shove down.

When they finally leave the shop, the cashier waves at them. Sid can feel the back of his neck heating up, but Geno just waves back.

They wait at the bus stop together, Sid’s hands firmly in his shorts pockets and Geno tipping his head back to look at the sky. “Is beautiful out,” he says, voice deep and rough, and Sid nods.

“This is one of my favorite times of year,” he agrees, tilting his own head so he can see the nearly cloudless sky. “Right before it starts raining every day -- there’s just so much sun, you know?”

“Yes,” Geno replies, turning his head and smiling at Sid. “I like too.”

“Good,” Sid replies, quirking his lips a little and poking his tongue out of Geno. “I’d have to stop being your friend if you didn’t.”

Geno mock gasps, elbowing Sid sharply in the ribs and startling out a laugh, one of the honking ones Sid honestly wishes he could train himself out of doing. “Very rude, Sid. Maybe not want to be friend now, you so mean.”

“I’m kidding!” Sid protests, still giggling as Geno elbows him again. “I’m kidding, God, of course we’re friends you asshole.”

“Good,” Geno replies, finally taking his sharp elbows away. Sid’s pretty sure he’s going to have bruises. “Glad you are friend.”

“Me too,” Sid says, and when Geno grins at him, nudging Sid one last time before the bus arrives, it warms Sid up even more than the October sunshine.

-

The week before Geno’s biology midterms, Sid doesn’t see Geno at all. Which, okay, Sid gets it, midterms are universally shit, but still, it’s not quite right to not see Geno smiling at him across the counter, or quiz him as Sid cleans pitchers.

Geno’s texted Sid plenty of times since Sid’s started helping him out, but Sid’s never actually managed to text first. Sid takes a deep breath for courage and, after a few seconds of just hovering his fingers over the keys of his flip phone, texts him under the counter while Julie glares at his not-so-stealthy technique. _not coming in this week?_

 _((((( midterms too hard_ , Geno texts back about five minutes later, and Sid frowns at his phone until Julie yells at him to make some frappuccinos already.

As soon as Sid gets out of his afternoon shift, he takes the bus to one of the millions of Thai places littering the Ave and frowns at the menu. Sid’s favorite is Pad Thai, but he has no idea what Geno likes, so he decides to order a yellow curry rice thing that Sid can eat if Geno absolutely has to switch.

 _hey_ , he texts as he gets back on the Metro, _where’s your dorm?_

Ten minutes later, he receives _mercer court. on adams. why???_

Sid doesn’t answer him, instead looking out the window and waiting as the bus creaks and moans its way towards campus. It’s a typical October day, grey and half overcast, but the sunset is streaking the clouds with pinks and purples and illuminating the lakes.

Finally, Sid makes it to campus, and he manages to worm his phone up to his ear, dialing Geno’s number and shoving his way into the dorm lobby. “Hey,” he says as soon as Geno picks up, talking right over Geno’s noise of surprise, “What’s your room number?”

“178,” Geno replies. “Sid, what is –“

“Be there in a few,” Sid replies, grabbing for his phone and snapping it shut as he makes for the elevator.

Sid hasn’t been in the dorms for what feels like forever, but the boring hallways and uniform doors with occasional name posters feels just like freshman year. As he wanders down the hall, he scans the room numbers, on the lookout until he finally finds himself standing in front of Geno’s door. After a few seconds of wrestling with the takeout bags, he has a free hand to knock.

When Geno opens the door, he stares at Sid like he doesn’t believe Sid’s actually there. “You here?”

“Yeah,” Sid replies, nodding at Geno. “I, uh, thought I could help you study.” That, at least, sounds less pathetic than “it’s weird not seeing you in the coffee shop.”

“Oh,” Geno says, blinking. He still hasn’t opened the door all the way, but his confused look is gone, replaced by a slowly growing smile.

“I brought Thai,” Sid offers, holding up the plastic bag full of takeout as proof.

Geno beams at him, pulling open the door enough for Sid to come in. “Sid best,” he says happily, grabbing the bag from Sid and pulling out his container of yellow curry with a hum of satisfaction.

Geno’s room feels weirdly familiar, though Sid chalks it up to being like pretty much every other dorm room he’s ever been in. There’s a poster of some hockey player up on the wall, and textbooks scattered around on the floor, joined by small piles of laundry and random supplies and what looks like an Ethernet cable tangled up with Geno’s bookbag. After a few seconds, Geno blushes and starts shoving everything into his closet and under his bed, until there’s about three square feet of carpet that’s clear of everything.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, pushing what looks like might be skates under his bed, “didn’t know you coming, is very messy.”

“You’re fine,” Sid replies, taking a seat on the part of the floor that Geno’s unearthed. “I mean, I didn't exactly call, so, uh. You’re good.”

Geno mumbles something Sid doesn’t catch, but he at least stops cleaning, instead taking a seat next to Sid so that their knees are knocking together.

They sit on the floor leaning against Geno’s bed, taking bites of Thai food while Sid quizzes Geno on amino acids and anatomy. Geno’s definitely improving, confidently stating definitions as Sid flips through flashcards and eats Pad Thai.

“You’re getting better,” Sid says, half-mumbling through a bite of noodles and chicken. “I think you’re really getting this stuff.”

“Is all Sid,” Geno replies, absently taking another bite of his curry rice. “I not know if you did not help.”

“That isn’t true,” Sid protests, pointing at Geno with his fork. “You were already doing great. I’m just, you know, a little extra.”

“You not little,” Geno says, laughing at Sid’s scowl. “But, still, is good. Glad to have you here, helping me.”

“I’ll always help you out,” Sid replies, and the thing is, even as he says it he realizes how much he means it.

-

On Tuesday, Sid comes home to the apartment pissed off and stressed out. His least favorite history professor had neglected to mention that their paper on the colonization of central Africa was due on Wednesday rather than in a week, so he has to write five to six pages tonight instead of on Thursday like he planned. When he hears the sound of laughing and what might be Mario Kart as he unlocks the apartment door, he’s about ready to kill James and whoever his friend is.

But then he hears in an awfully familiar voice, “Sid!”

Sid blinks in the middle of the doorway into the living room, staring at where Geno’s turned his head enough to see Sid. “Geno? What are you doing over?”

“Lazy invite me,” Geno says cheerfully, sweeping a hand to point out James, who curses as Geno runs him off the course without even looking.

“Paulie’s off doing research, and I figured I might as well get to know your friend a little better,” James says, swearing even more when the squid thing covers his view of the track. “What the fuck, G, do you really need to do that? I’m fucked anyways!”

“Lazy deserve it, have to be better,” Geno says, refocusing on the game. “You want to play?”

Sid shakes his head a little, still staring at the way Geno’s sprawled across his couch. “Uh, no, I – I have to write a paper tonight.”

“Oh,” Geno says, and Sid doesn’t think he’s totally imagining the way Geno sounds disappointed. “Anything we do to help?”

“I – just keep it down, yeah?” Sid asks.

Geno nods, and then, when James is too focused on trying to drive his way around Geno, elbows James in the gut. James squawks. “Fuck, yes, okay, we’ll keep it down!“

With that, Geno offers Sid a sly smile. “Have to make sure Lazy listens. Too dumb to know better.”

“Shut the fuck up, asshole,” James replies, throwing himself around like that’ll help his virtual steering. “I’m perfectly respectful. We can even make dinner, yeah?”

“I,” Sid says, “maybe we should get take-out, but, um. Yeah. I’m going to go do work now.”

“Good luck, Sid!” Geno says, right before running James into a herd of cows and racing across the finish line. “Hah! Still better, Lazy!”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck off,” James grumbles.

At that Sid finally manages to uproot himself and heads into his room. Once he gets there he plugs in his headphones and starts blasting music in order to drown out the noise of James and Geno talking until he’s finally able to focus and stop wishing he was out there, talking with them. 

-

The Huskies play Arizona State late in October, and Duper waves Sid off when he tries to come in to work, telling him to go watch the game. “You’re young and able to withstand the wind, and you definitely need to get out more,” he says cheerfully as he tacks up the schedule. “Go live a little, yeah?”

Thus, that Saturday Sid finds himself standing next to Geno in [Husky Stadium](http://i1.ytimg.com/vi/aKVvCpcqH8o/maxresdefault.jpg), nose tucked into the collar of his sweatshirt while the stadium shakes with noise. The clouds are threatening a downpour that Sid seriously isn’t dressed for, and he doesn’t even like football that much, but Geno had texted him with lots of eyeless emoticons and exclamation points, and, well. Here Sid is, bouncing on the balls of his feet to keep warm as thousands of people roar in his ear, blindly rooting for UW and hoping it doesn’t actually rain.

Next to him, Geno’s wildly cheering, looking more excited about the game than Sid could ever expect. Sid hadn’t really pegged Geno as a football fan, but when Geno had met him outside the stadium, he had been totally decked out in purple and gold.

“I didn’t know you liked football,” Sid says as they walk up to their seats, and Geno looks back at him over his shoulder.

“Football – not best sport, hockey best, but next best. Best in Seattle.”

“Not soccer?” Sid asks. He agrees about hockey – he played midget when he was a kid, but there’s not really a big scene for it in Washington unless you want to root for the Canucks, which, no. Still, ever since his parents realized that there was no way he could grow as a hockey player unless he went to school a thousand miles away, they put him in soccer camp. Plus, he’s pretty sure Geno’s seen him in his Sounders jersey on game days.

“Soccer third best,” Geno says, sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as Sid scowls at him. “Not good as football.”

“Lies,” Sid replies. “Soccer’s _way_ better than football, since it actually makes sense.”

“Shh,” Geno says, putting a finger in front of Sid’s lips. Sid freezes, unsure what to do, but Geno just laughs at him and retrieves his hand. “Football best.”

Sid should probably protest that, but he’s too busy freaking out about Geno just casually touching his mouth like it’s no big deal. Fortunately, the arrival of the ASU team distracts Geno enough that he doesn’t ask Sid about it.

The game today isn’t that important – sure, it’s a big deal, but it isn’t exactly the Apple Cup. They’re not playing Oregon or, God forbid, Wazzu, so the crowd isn’t quite as intense as it can get. Still, Geno gets totally into it, yelling with the crowd while occasionally turning to Sid to double-check that Sid’s suitably enthused about the whole thing. Whenever he does, Sid just smiles back, more to see Geno’s excitement than because he actually cares.

“We going to beat them,” Geno says viciously, booing loudly and yelling insults as the other team runs onto the field. It’s a total dick move, which is why it’s seriously concerning that Sid finds it charming.

“Go Huskies,” Sid agrees, and Geno flashes him a brief smile before returning to his mission of insulting the ASU quarterback’s entire ancestry in increasingly colorful ways.

When the Huskies finally run onto the pitch, Geno starts shouting even louder, waving his arms as each player charges onto the field. His excitement is contagious, and soon Sid finds himself getting caught up in it, cheering along with the crowd after every name called and joining the chants, never mind that football definitely isn’t his sport.

The part where Geno keeps looking over at him and smiling definitely doesn’t hurt Sid’s enthusiasm, anyways.

“See?” he shouts after every time UW scores, turning and beaming at Sid. “Best sport, best game.”

“You sure about that?” Sid asks, elbowing Geno a little, unable to resist the chirp. “I hear the Sounders are first in the West this year. Maybe they’re best.”

“No,” Geno tells him easily, “hockey best. We watch game, it show you.”

“I know how hockey works,” Sid argues, but Geno laughs.

“Yes, so know football second, not soccer. Now shh, must make sure team score.” He turns back to the field, shouting and waving, just as the quarterback makes a beautiful pass up to one of the wide receivers who practically dances across the line to score for the Huskies.

The entire stadium roars, a wall of sound that makes Sid’s ears ring. “Yes!” Geno shouts, cheering hoarsely before turning to Sid and wrapping him in a massive hug. “Fuck yes, we score!”

“Yeah,” Sid agrees weakly, too busy focusing on how Geno’s practically resting his chin on Sid’s head, surrounding him with warmth and strength and a lot of things Sid is definitely not going to think about. “Yeah, we scored.”

“Because we best,” Geno says happily, finally breaking the hug to turn back to the game. Sid can still feel the warmth of his arms long after Geno’s let go.

-

“So,” Flower says, coming up behind Sid and reaching around him mop up the spill of someone’s extra-hot mocha, “you and that Geno, huh.”

“Don’t,” Sid warns, wielding his towel at Flower in self-defense.

“I’m just saying –“ Flower starts, but Sid glares at her.

“Can you just – not?” he asks, turning back to pulling out espresso shots.

Flower takes the hint for an astonishingly long two minutes, in which time Sid’s able to steam milk and finish up the espresso he needs. Still, Sid knows it will only be a matter of time before she cracks, and he isn’t disappointed.

“Have you ever considered,” Flower says, leaning against the bar and idly flipping one of the ice scoops as she talks, “that you’re seriously into him?”

Sid looks up from blonde-regular Amanda’s grande caramel macchiato and grimaces at her. “What are you even talking about?”

“I’m just saying,” Flower says, spreading her arms wide and nearly hitting Sid in the face, “you hang out with him all the time! You have your little ‘study dates’ and you actually do patterns in his latte foam. You have a thing for him.”

“We’re friends,” Sid says primly, finishing the caramel sauce on top and sliding the cup across the counter to where Amanda’s waiting, her friend tall-brunette-regular Hilary already sipping on her chai. “Just because you and Vero turned out to not be ‘just friends’ –“

“I resent that statement; I knew from day one that Vero and I were perfect for each other,” Flower says dismissively, flicking her fingers in Sid’s face. “Besides, that’s not my point. Yeah, you’re friends – but do you want to _stay_ that way?”

“I,” Sid says, glancing back at her, unable to think of anything to say.

Flower huffs out a breath, for once looking sympathetic instead of slightly dickish. “Look, I know you aren’t really one for, you know, dating or whatever, and I’m not trying to get into your relationship hang-ups, but seriously. Have you thought about it? Because I think you should.”

Sid breathes out carefully, and reaches over to grab the milk pitcher. “I think,” he says, shoving the pitcher into Flower’s hands, “you should clean that.”

After a beat, Flower slugs him on the shoulder as she walks over to the sink. “Cleaning as avoidance won’t work forever, you know!” she hollers, and Sid rolls his eyes.

“But it works for now,” he replies, and ignores the slightly pitying noise coming from the direction of the sink.

-

November comes into Seattle blustery and cold, stripping the trees of leaves and turning the campus sidewalks slick and slightly terrifying. Sid starts pulling out hoodies and rain shells, and is able to pick out tourists at the Starbucks by who’s carrying umbrellas.

On one windy Thursday, Geno meets him outside of Smith, right after Sid’s Cold War class finishes up. “So,” he says, sliding his phone back into the pocket of his windbreaker as he walks up to join Sid, “we go to glass today?”

“Yeah,” Sid replies, patting his pockets for his ORCA card as he falls in step with Geno, who shortens his stride just enough for Sid to keep up.

They take the 32 and switch to the 16 to the Seattle Center, bumping knees as the bus hisses and whines. The Metro remains as sketch as ever, but Sid is distracted from the weird smell and the shitty roads by Geno’s warmth pressed up against his side, Geno’s voice a low rumble in Sid’s ear as he asks about the Pink Elephant Car Wash and the huge site that Sid thinks has been under construction ever since he was born. Sid does his best to play tour guide, but the way Geno’s boxing him in doesn’t particularly help his higher brain functions.

They get off at the Seattle Center, and Geno stares up at the Space Needle, Sid standing next to him with his hands in his pockets. Sid’s grown so used to seeing it that he forgets sometimes how impressive it can be, but standing here with Geno at the base, he gets that same feeling of awe at just how much smaller he is.

“So tall,” Geno says, and Sid nods.

“Yeah,” he says finally, and then pulls at Geno’s elbow. “Come on – the glass is this way.”

The [Chihuly exhibit](http://media.komonews.com/images/120609_seattle_center_660.jpg) has only been around for a couple years, so Sid’s never been to see it as opposed to dozens of school field trips to see plays at the Intiman or run around the Science Center. Still, he’s heard good things, and Julie told him that it’s worth seeing in person even for non-art people, so he tugs Geno along until they’re standing inside the atrium, waiting to pay for their tickets.

The first section is a lot of history, all in English. They spend a good ten minutes trying to parse it together, but after they’ve only made it through two of the panels Geno makes a frustrated noise.

“Not important, yes?” he asks, screwing up his mouth and startling a laugh out of Sid.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Sid admits, jerking his head towards the doorway. “Should we just head for the art?”

They walk together down the hallways, passing through a room full of vases before standing in front of a tower of curls, and then what looks like an underwater garden. Everything looks like plants from some other planet or under the sea, all tangled together, and Sid can’t pretend to understand it, but it’s beautiful all the same.

Still, he doesn’t really stop like you’re supposed to in art museum. Sure, he spends a long time staring at Ikebana, the rowboat filled with colorful stems of glass, pouring over the sides and reflecting the low lighting, but he doesn’t feel like that counts. For some reason, looking at the globes and stems of glass, like children’s toys left behind after a storm, feels more vivid and real than the art he’d been dragged into seeing at SAM on countless field trips.

At some point Geno wanders off to the chandelier room, but Sid gives himself a few more seconds to stare before following him, glancing up at the light reflecting off the glass.

There are only two rooms left, and Sid’s pretty sure he knows what he liked best already, still focused on the boats full of globes and curls. When he nudges Geno in the room of vases, flowering open almost as wide as Sid’s arm span, Geno shrugs.

“Not know yet,” he says, and then turns to go out of the exit. Sid dawdles, staring at another vase, when all of a sudden he hears, “Sid, look!”

Sid walks around the corner, ready to go, only to stop, breathless, in the doorway.

It’s a massive atrium, transparent glass windows letting in all the light the sky has to offer, and above their heads is a huge collection of what look almost like flowers. On closer inspection, Sid realizes that it’s a mass of huge red and orange and yellow discs, ridged and fluted, hanging above their heads like fireworks, bright and warm and beautiful. “Sid,” Sid hears again, and when he focuses, he sees Geno standing underneath, looking up and smiling like he’s never been happier. The light from the sun – and there’s sun today, how is there sun today – glances off the flowers, reflecting and shining until it comes to rest on Geno.

Geno looks like he belongs there, just as warm, and when he looks at Sid, it stops his breath.

Sid stands there in the doorway, staring at Geno, heart pounding in his throat. Of course it had to be sunny. Maybe if it hadn’t, Sid would’ve been able to go on without knowing how much he wants. He could’ve convinced himself that he was fine with what he had, that he didn’t need anything more.

Now, though, with Geno beckoning Sid forward with an arm and a smile, Sid’s hit with the sheer weight of wanting all of Geno, every last part of him. He wants Geno’s mornings and afternoons and evenings, Geno scowling and smirking and laughing. He wants Geno’s fights and his teasing and the way he smiles after his first sip of coffee. He wants Geno pressed up against him on the bus and on the floor of Geno’s dorm room, the weight of his body and the feeling of his hand at the small of Sid’s back.

Sid wants _everything_ , and it makes him feel giddy even as it scares the shit out of him.

“Sid?” Geno asks again, and Sid snaps out of it, stepping forward to join him under the firework flowers, staring up as the sun glints and reflects off the glass and onto their faces.

“Is beautiful,” Geno says quietly, voice too low for anyone but Sid to hear. His smile is warm and infectious and Sid can’t help responding to it, grinning back before he can stop himself.

“Yeah,” he replies, soft and hushed, like he would in church, and -- it is beautiful, of course it is, but he can’t kid himself into thinking he’s referring to the artwork.

He can’t focus the rest of the time they’re there, smiling absently as Geno talks and trying desperately to process, walking around the exhibit in a daze. Geno wants to see the Seattle Center just beyond the exhibit, and then the singing fountain, and Sid just follows after him, head buzzing with too many thoughts.

“You okay?” Geno asks, and Sid blinks, realizes that Geno’s asked a couple times.

“I, uh, yeah. I’m good,” he says, stumbling over the words a little.

Geno smiles back. “Good,” he says, knocking Sid’s shoulder.

Sid tries to smile back, full of nerves and excitement and terror. Even though Geno’s already pulled away to wander over to McCaw Hall and shouted “Sid, look at fountain!”, Sid’s shoulder is still warm.

-

Sid takes the bus home for Thanksgiving, arriving at Aurora Village a couple hours before dinner. It isn’t as big a deal as Christmas, especially since he doesn’t have to go to church or anything, but the minute his mom sees him she gives him a hug and then starts talking about how skinny he’s gotten.

“I thought you were trying to maintain muscle mass,” Trina says, pulling out of the overfull Costco parking lot and onto 99. “You look like you haven’t eaten in days.”

“Mom,” Sid groans, leaning his head against the passenger-side window. “I eat, okay? There’s just been a lot of work and stuff, and so I haven’t been home for dinner as often as I want.”

Trina tsks at him, carefully rounding the exit onto Edmonds Way. “Still, I worry about you. You’re getting too skinny -- I thought that roommate of yours is an excellent cook. That’s what you told me last week.”

“I’ll be fine, Mom,” Sid whines, looking at her across the center consul. “It’s just kind of a stressful time, that’s all.”

They go a couple blocks in silence before Trina starts talking again, the familiar chatter as she runs through family friends and church people immediately soothing Sid. “Your sister’s doing well -- they’ll start having winter tournament games soon, though I need to have a talk with that coach of hers. I don’t want her to get played so often that she starts stressing about it -- you know how it is, all that pressure.”

“I’m sure Taylor will be fine. She’s great,” Sid says loyally, though sometimes he does agree -- watching Taylor play would be stressful even without all the pressure of being a goalie. Last time he was able to make a game, it went to shootout, and it took most of Sid’s self-control not to cuss out the opposing coach.

“I just don’t like it -- I always worry when she’s in goal,” Trina says softly, flipping her turn signal. “How about you, honey? When does your season start up again?”

“March,” Sid replies, and he can feel the thrill of anticipation even though it’s a full four months away. “We’ve got some good guys signed up, and I think I can get a couple more on the team -- enough to hopefully take the tournament, if we’re good enough.”

“That’s great,” Trina says. “How about your classes? Are they going alright?”

“They’re fine -- a couple interesting ones, a couple not. Finals should be okay, though,” Sid says, wincing a little at the thought of all the papers he’s going to have to write.

“Well, you always manage in the end,” Trina replies, passing the QFC and PCC as they crest one of the Edmonds hills, the [Sound](http://www.travelphotoadventures.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/05/My-View-in-Edmonds-by-Michael-Matti.jpg) visible just beyond the rows of houses and evergreens. “I know you’ll be just fine.”

“Yeah,” Sid agrees, staring out the window at the ferry slowly docking at the harbor, looking like a child’s toy from this far away. “I know.”

Thanksgiving dinner goes surprisingly diplomatically -- it’s just the four of them this year, since the family they usually eat with is off in Iowa seeing grandparents or something that Trina explained in her rundown of the news on everyone she or Sid might know. There aren’t any pointed questions from either of his parents about Sid’s choice of majors or plans for what he’s doing after undergrad, and Taylor keeps them all entertained by talking about the huge amount of drama that’s apparently going on with the girl’s soccer team about someone’s latest girlfriend and the winter tolo. Trina doesn’t burn the vegetables for the first time in three years, and while Sid still doesn’t like cranberry jam in the slightest, the rest of the food turns out great.

“This was awesome, Mom,” Sid tells her as he starts clearing the nice dishes that have to be hand washed.

“It’s always great to cook for you, baby,” Trina replies, taking a sip of her post-dinner coffee as Taylor and Sid hip-check one another while trying to get to the sink. “What did you think of it, Troy?”

“Great as always,” Troy says, ducking down to brush a kiss at Trina’s temple. Taylor makes a gagging noise.

“So,” Trina asks, “what movie should we watch tonight?”

“Actually,” Sid says, scrubbing hard at the vegetable pan, “I was thinking Taylor and I could hang out and you two could just watch something together.”

“Thank god,” Taylor hisses in Sid’s ear, elbowing him in order to grab the sponge. “Mom and Dad have been really disgusting lately.”

“What was that, squirt?” Troy asks, laughing a little. “We could be worse.”

“Ugh, _don’t_ ,” Taylor groans, rolling her eyes so hard Sid wouldn’t be surprised if they fell out of her head. “You guys are all old and gross.”

“You hear that, honey? She’s calling us old,” Troy says to Trina, and both of them laugh as Taylor groans even louder.

“Yuck,” she says, grabbing at Sid’s elbow. “Can we go hang out in your room away from them?”

“Sure thing,” Sid replies, pretty sure he can’t keep the slightly amused smile off his face.

Taylor drags them both up the stairs towards the bedrooms, and it doesn’t take long for her to start chattering again, full of high school gossip and the kind of enthusiasm Sid’s pretty sure he never had when he was Taylor’s age. Sid’s definitely failing to keep all the names straight, but listening to Taylor go on and on just makes him grin, feeling more and more settled with the sound of her voice.

“Your room,” Taylor says, tugging Sid towards his bedroom, mostly abandoned even by the dog. Nothing about it has changed much since high school -- there’s still the mix of soccer trophies and comic books on the bookshelves, and the old ratty comforter his mom still hasn’t gotten rid of yet. “Mom says mine is a cesspit.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Sid replies, earning himself a squawk and an elbow to the ribs.

“You’re supposed to be loving and supportive, jerkface,” Taylor replies, bouncing onto Sid’s bed and crossing her legs in front of her. “Not everyone’s a neat freak like you --”

“Just because I keep things _organized_ doesn’t make me a neat freak, Taylor,” Sid replies, sitting a little bit more carefully next to Taylor and leaning back on his palms.

“Sure, Squid,” Taylor replies, pulling a face before sitting up straight and launching into another story, this one about some boy on the soccer team who apparently scores gorgeous goals and has a good smile. Sid interrupts every once in a while to tease her, because Taylor has a tendency to blush bright tomato red, but mostly he just lets Taylor chatter on, content to listen to her talk.  
“So when are you asking this boy out?” Sid finally asks, once they’ve reached a pause in the conversation.

Taylor flails at him, accidentally managing to land a hit that glances off Sid’s shoulder. “Uh, not ever if I can help it? He’s like, a junior and way too cool. I’ll just watch him play, thanks.”

“You sure? He’d be lucky to date you. I can make sure he knows that --” Sid starts, but Taylor just shrieks and tackles him, and Sid gives up on being serious, laughing at Taylor’s expression.

“Ugh, no, you hoser!” Taylor gives him one more punch to the shoulder and then rolls off of him, flopping back against the bed. “Anyways, why are you doing all the teasing? Do _you_ have any crushes?”

“Uh,” Sid stutters, startled. “I.”

“You do!” Taylor shouts, and Sid elbows her in the ribs. “I mean,” she starts again, now in a stage whisper, “you’re totally crushing on someone, aren’t you? Aren’t you?”

“I mean,” Sid says finally, rolling on his back so he can look up at the ceiling, “I might, uh. Be into someone.”

The high-pitched squeal Taylor makes almost ruptures Sid’s eardrum. “Seriously? You _like_ someone? Who are they? Are they cute? Can I meet them –“

“Taylor!”

Taylor sucks in a breath, audibly breathing through her nose, before saying in a much calmer tone, “So. Boy or girl?”

“Boy,” Sid says, biting his lip. He told his family he was bi back in high school, and while his parents tend to basically not talk about it ever, Taylor’s always been his biggest supporter – not in the least because she’s already called dibs on teasing the shit out of him as soon as he’s actually dating someone.

“Who is he? What does he do? Is he nice?”

“His name is Geno, and he’s – he’s great,” Sid says helplessly, feeling his face flush. “He’s really great.”

“Uh- _huh_ ,” Taylor says with emphasis in the way that only teenage girls can. “What does that mean? Is he cute? How’d you meet him? How do you know he’s great?”

“Taylor!” Sid says, but Taylor just giggles, rolling away from Sid’s attempt to poke her in the ribs. “I,” he finally starts, pushing himself up so he can sit upright on the bed, crossing his legs in front of him, “I met him at work -- he’s one of my regulars. He wants to get into vet school and sometimes I help him study.”

“Oh, you help him _study_ , huh?” Taylor says, waggling her eyebrows, and Sid splutters.

“Not like that, Taylor! We’re not even -- I haven’t said anything yet.”

“Gotcha,” Taylor replies. “You just _want_ to be ‘studying’ with him. I see.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Sid groans, covering his eyes with one hand even as Taylor laughs even harder than before. “I don’t -- are you supposed to even know about that stuff?”

“Sid, I’m in high school. I’m not exactly a little kid,” Taylor replies. “Besides, it’s not like you tell me every day about someone you want to date.”

“I, okay, point,” Sid says. “Still, I’m not -- we aren’t anything. Not really.”

“But you want to be something?”

Sid spreads his fingers, peering up at the ceiling as he carefully takes a breath. “I -- yeah. I want to be ‘something’.” He lets out the breath in a rush, and somehow the saying of it makes it more real, the wanting settling in his stomach.

“Wow,” Taylor says, suddenly looking serious. When Sid glances over at her, she’s staring at him, propping her head up with a hand. “That’s -- that’s pretty big, huh."

“Not really,” Sid replies, but Taylor just hums.

“If you’re telling me about him? It’s huge, Sid. That never happens.” Taylor pauses. “Are you going to tell Mom and Dad?”

“ _No_ , Taylor. I told you, this isn’t -- I’m not,” he says finally, shuddering at the thought of saying anything now, when nothing’s for sure.

“Yeah,” Taylor says finally, “I guess you should probably be actually dating if you’re going to tell them about it.”

Sid nods, and then Taylor’s words catch up to his brain, accompanied by a spike of panic, because -- Taylor talks about Sid dating as a certainty, but it isn’t. Sid doesn’t even know if Geno likes him that way, doesn’t know if he’s been reading things wrong, and the idea of reaching out only to be rejected makes his stomach twist. He rockets up, sitting up and staring down at his comforter, spreading his hands over the blanket. “What do I even say to him?”

“To Dad? Uh, can’t help much there, really,” Taylor says, but Sid just shakes his head violently.

“No, to -- to _Geno_ , fuck, what if he doesn’t want me?” He stares down at his hands, clenching his fingers in and out of fists. “What if -- I can’t just ask him out, fuck, I’d mess up everything.”

“Are you sure about that?” Taylor asks, and Sid grimaces.

“I -- fuck, I don’t know, but I -- I really don’t want to fuck it up, Taylor,” he says.

There’s a rustling sound and then Taylor’s draping herself over him, wrapping her arms around him and digging her chin into his shoulder. “You’re not going to fuck it up,” she says, squeezing her arms a little tighter. “You always figure things out.”

Sid thinks about asking, “But what if I do?” or “How do you know?” He doesn’t, though. just nods, soaking in Taylor’s warmth.

“So,” Taylor asks, after a minute or so, “what’s the game plan going to be?”

Sid winces. “Yeah, uh, I have no idea.”

“Hmph.” Taylor releases him, scooting so she’s sitting shoulder to shoulder with Sid at the foot of the bed. “You could invite him out somewhere? See him out of the Starbucks?”

“I mean,” Sid says, “we already kind of do that. We’ve gone to, you know, Capitol Hill, the Chihuly place, all that stuff.”

“Oh,” Taylor says, deflating a little as she props her head up with her hands, elbows resting on her knees. “Well, there’s got to be something special you can do, right? Where haven’t you gone?”

Sid thinks on it, frowning a little. “We haven’t gone past the Seattle Center, really,” he says slowly.

Taylor jumps and sits up straight, grabbing at Sid’s shoulder. “That’s it!”

“What’s it?” Sid asks, turning to look at her.

“It’s Thanksgiving,” Taylor says, looking at Sid like he’s a dumbass.

“Yes,” Sid says even slower, “that would be why I’m here.”

“And so tomorrow is?” Taylor asks, raising her eyebrows at him.

Sid glares at her. “The day after Thanksgiving?”

“Yeah, Squid, you know, the day they light the star downtown?” Taylor says, rolling her eyes. “As in, the perfect opportunity to take your dude somewhere he hasn’t been yet?”

“Oh,” Sid says, staring at her. “ _Oh_.”

“Yup,” Taylor says, crossing her arms. “Tell me I’m a genius.”

“You definitely are,” Sid replies, hugging her quickly. “Super genius, even.”

“Damn straight,” Taylor says. “Now stop being a huge loser and ask him out already.”

Sid pulls out his phone, typing and retyping the text as Taylor peers over his shoulder. Finally, he settles on, _there’s a holiday thing downtown tomorrow night. want to go?_

“Perfect,” Taylor declares once he hits send. “You can go see the star get lit up, be super romantic together, drink holiday coffee -- it’ll be excellent.”

Sid’s phone buzzes, and he flips it open to see _ok!!! what time?_

 _seven_ , he texts back, hitting send and throwing his phone behind him on the bed.

“You’re going to be fine,” Taylor says, like she’s sure of it. Sid just huffs out a breath and hopes she’s right.

-

The day after Thanksgiving is cold and windy, a bitter sort of chill that makes Sid want to curl up in his blankets and not leave the apartment. It won’t get to below freezing until January at least, but Sid hates the way Seattle slides into winter, instead of having it arrive in one cold snap. He can’t help shivering as he waits for Geno’s bus to arrive, hands shoved as far as they’ll go into the pockets of his coat and sticking his nose into his scarf, an old lumpy Christmas present from when Taylor tried to learn to knit.

Geno, when he steps off the bus, is equally bundled up, a big grey beanie tugged over his ears and arms crossed as he reaches Sid. “So cold,” he complains, giving a great, exaggerated shiver. “Going to freeze.”

“Aren’t you from Russia? You should be used to this,” Sid replies, elbowing Geno as they head down the sidewalk.

“America make me soft,” Geno agrees, heaving a sigh.

They walk together towards Westlake, elbows bumping occasionally as they follow the hordes of pedestrians all going the same way. As they get closer, the sound of carols grows louder, whatever choir the mall hired singing out towards the crowd. All around them lights are glittering as the sky darkens, night setting in early.

After scoping out the crowd, Sid grabs Geno’s elbow, tugging him towards the massive fountain across from the lawn. One brief period of shoving and elbowing later, they’re standing right next to the fountain, with a perfect view of the star and the choir up on the balcony.

“Now what?” Geno asks, looking around over the crowd and up at the buildings. From here, Sid can just barely see the elves climbing the Macy’s building.

“Now,” Sid says, letting go of Geno’s arm and shoving his hand back in his pocket to warm it up, “we wait.”

“Wait?” Geno asks, wrinkling his nose.

“Well, it has to be dark enough,” Sid replies, nodding at the star hanging off the Macy’s building. “So, we wait, and listen to Christmas carols, and maybe ride the carousel, if they’ll let us.”

“Maybe too boring for me,” Geno teases, poking his tongue out, and Sid elbows him.

“No, you have to stay. I promise it’s cool,” he says, knowing he sounds a little too earnest and unable to bring himself to care.

“Okay, I stay,” Geno replies easily, like it was never in doubt, and a little bit of the tension in Sid’s shoulders eases away.

They settle into a comfortable silence, just listening to the choir sing _O Christmas Tree_ and _Deck the Halls_ and watching the crowd move around them. Partway through Geno pulls out his phone, taking pictures of the lights and the giant Christmas tree set up outside [Westlake](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_vmHaKhcKHbk/TRWiXKsVqeI/AAAAAAAABv4/M5nKKQM-O7o/s1600/3096605769_e28f26890e.jpg), humming to himself as he tries to find the perfect shot. The weather isn’t good enough for fireworks this year, but just the tree itself is enough to get Sid in the holiday mood, and he hums along to one of the carols.

“Voice awful,” Geno teases, even as he leans into Sid’s space to take another picture.

“Whatever -- like you’re any better,” Sid chirps back, and Geno just laughs.

“Is okay. Maybe I like bad singing,” he says. Even though it’s cold, Sid feels a little too warm at that, and he has to hide his grin in his scarf.

Finally it’s dark enough to light the star. After the mayor says something no one can understand even with the speakers, the music gets loud and joyful right as they finally light the star. It’s huge and bright against the darkness, and as the crowd around them claps and cheers Sid can’t help getting swept up in it too, laughing and forgetting the cold, just a little. 

When he glances up at Geno, he’s smiling too, grin splitting his face. The warmth from earlier settles in Sid’s stomach, and he’s sure everything he’s feeling is written all over his face, but right now, with the music and the lights and everyone together like this, Geno close enough that Sid can feel his heat, Sid can’t bring himself to care.

As the crowd slowly clears out, families with little kids heading for the carousel and twenty somethings heading for the bars and restaurants just a couple blocks away, Sid nudges Geno with his shoulder, unable to stop smiling. “Wasn’t that cool?”

“Yeah,” Geno agrees, looking down at Sid.

“Told you you should stay,” Sid says, rocking back on his heels and nodding towards the star. “And I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Yes, yes, Sid best,” Geno says with an exasperated sigh, but when he looks back at Sid, it’s with a grin that makes his eyes crinkle.

It’s here, staring up at Geno, looking at the lines of his smile, that Sid knows he can’t stay quiet anymore. He has to ask, has to know, and so he takes a deep breath, turning on his heels to face Geno and biting his lip.

“I,” Sid starts, twisting his fingers and looking up at Geno. “I’m really glad I met you, Geno.”

Geno smiles at him. “Glad I meet too, Sid.”

“I just,” Sid says, biting down on his lip before speaking again. “I like hanging out with you, being your friend. You -- you’re amazing, Geno, and I want to spend more time with you.”

“Sid,” Geno says, but Sid’s busy steeling his courage, pinching at the lining of his pockets before rolling up on the balls of his feet. On his toes he’s just tall enough to look Geno in the eye, and before he can talk himself out of it, before he can stop himself, he leans forward and presses a careful kiss to Geno’s lips.

Geno’s mouth is dry, lips a little chapped from the cold. When Sid presses forward, enough to nearly lose his balance, Geno catches his arm automatically, grip tight around Sid’s bicep, and tugs him close enough to kiss back. Around them Sid can hear the voices of passersby and the wind is cold through Sid’s coat but he doesn’t care, because Geno’s kissing him back.

Finally Sid has to break away to catch his breath. He rolls back down onto his heels, the hope and the fear turning his stomach into knots. “That’s what I want,” he says quietly, heart in his throat and eyes fixed on Geno’s face.

For a moment, nothing happens. Geno’s still staring at him, eyes wide and one hand still shoved in his pocket, the other slowly releasing its grip on Sid’s arm. Behind them the traffic is going and people are talking and the tinny carousel music keeps repeating, but nothing matters quite so much as Geno, still frozen in place.

Finally, Geno asks, voice cracking as he takes his hand away, “What was that?”

“I,” Sid says, stomach twisting at the look on Geno’s face, blank and inscrutable. “I – Geno –“

“Why you kiss me?” Geno asks. “Why you think I – why you do that?”

“Because,” Sid replies, stomach twisting unpleasantly even as he rocks away from Geno, back onto his heels. “Because I want you, Geno – I –“

“You can’t just – can’t do that, Sid,” Geno replies, face falling as he pushes his hair off his forehead. “Can’t just kiss me, it –“

“Why not?” Sid can’t help asking. “Why not, when we –“

“We what? You friendly, make coffee, smile, is all to kiss me? That not how it work, Sid,” Geno replies, eyes darting to the people milling around them and back to Sid’s face. “We not like that. Can’t be like that.”

“But we could be!” Sid bursts out, stepping a little closer. There’s still a part of him screaming for him to stop, to step back, to not poke at the wound, but Sid’s just so tired of being afraid, so tired of constantly waiting. “We could be, Geno, we could do this if we just –“

“No, we can’t!” Geno says, every word hitting Sid like a blow. “We can’t do. Impossible.”

“But you, you kissed me back,” Sid replies, because it was only a few seconds but it was a few seconds Sid can’t forget, that he won’t forget. “You kissed me back, Geno –“

“Was mistake,” Geno says, and this time he looks past Sid, refusing to make eye contact. “Won’t happen again.”

“And why not?” Sid says, clenching his fists inside his pockets, throat burning as he breathes in the cold air outside. “Why are you so fucking afraid?”

Geno doesn’t answer, just huffs out a breath. Finally he says, voice low, “Doesn’t matter if I want or not. We not do.”

“Of course it matters!” Sid replies. “If we both want it --”

“Never going to happen, Sid,” Geno says, each word sharp.

Sid stares back at him, the cold suddenly sharper at his back, cutting through his jacket and making him shudder. Each breath he takes burns in his lungs, sharp and raw in the back of his throat, and he doesn’t know if it’s the cold or something else. “Geno,” he says, but Geno just looks away from him, head tipped down so Sid can’t read his face.

“I think you need to go,” Geno says, voice quiet, and Sid -- Sid can’t.

“Fine,” he says. His voice is shaking but he doesn’t know how to stop it. “Fine.”

When he turns to walk away, the wind cuts through his jacket, making him shiver until he has to grit his teeth to stop them from chattering. Geno doesn’t try to stop him.

-

Sid spends most of the week after the star lighting working and studying for finals, gearing up for the end of the quarter. Occasionally he can see Flower or Julie shooting him worried looks over the counter, but he ignores them, focusing on ringing up customers.

None of them are Geno, but that’s fine. Sid doesn’t give a shit. Fuck him.

He does, however, have to give a shit about the fact that it’s now the holidays, which means six thousand holiday themed items and a million new specialty drink orders to master. After the fifth rich white mom asks for a lo-fat caramel brûlée latte as if they exist, Sid has to go hide in the back room just to breathe until Julie comes to drag him out again.

“Don’t make me go back there,” Sid hisses, giving Julie a wild look from where he’s sitting amongst the beans. “If one more person asks for a fucking non-fat eggnog latte –“

“Buck up, cowboy,” Julie retorts. “Besides, I’m on break. Get back out there, or else Christine’s going to come in here and then you’re totally fucked.”

“Ugh,” Sid says with feeling, but he goes, tugging his apron straight and trying to get his best, most holiday cheeriest smile on his face.

“Hi,” he says as he arrives at the cash register, “What can I –“

“Sidney!” says a very familiar voice, and Sid looks up to see Alex.

“Uh,” Sid says, taking an involuntary step back. “I – what are you doing here?”

Alex gives him a huge gap-toothed grin. “I want to see how Sidney is doing, is that so bad? We are friends, yes?”

“No,” Sid says vehemently. “No, we’re definitely not.”

Unfortunately, Alex doesn’t take the hint. “Of course we are friends! Know each other, yes? Hang out with Zhenya?”

“That doesn’t –“ Sid says finally, ignoring the way his chest hurts at the sound of Geno’s name. “We’re not.”

The pitying look Alex gives him is almost worse than any insult he could come up with. “Sidney,” he says, just for a second, and then he sighs. “Zhenya is stupid, you know?”

Sid stares back at him. “What?”

“He not know good thing,” Alex replies, nodding towards Sid. “Stupid.”

“He’s not –“ Sid protests, almost by rote, before realizing what he’s saying. “Ugh. I – it’s no big deal.”

“Is biggest deal,” Alex says earnestly. “You good for Zhenya, good friend, good other thing, but he stupid, so he not know that. That’s why he says things – can’t understand what he has.”

Sid blinks at him, because – he knows what Alex is saying, can’t fake that he didn’t hear it because of the grinder or the milk steamer. Alex has known Geno a lot longer than Sid has, and if he thinks that about how Sid and Geno were, how they could be, well. Sid hasn’t exactly stopped hoping.

Still, Sid’s pretty sure that being let down now might hurt even worse, so he just sighs and asks, “What do you want to drink, Alex?”

Alex huffs out a breath, but at last he orders, sliding a crumpled five-dollar bill across the counter and dropping the change Sid offers him in the tip jar. Sid gets to work on putting together Alex’s cappuccino, glad that the heat from the milk steaming can mask just how hot his face feels. As soon as he hands over Alex’s coffee, Sid immediately turns back to cleaning the steamer wand, not wanting to talk anymore.

Still, it doesn’t seem to stop Alex.

“He miserable without you,” Alex says, sounding weirdly serious as he leans his elbows on the counter, and Sid doesn’t look up, won’t look up. He can feel the weight of Alex’s gaze, but he ignores it, instead carefully, methodically going over the ritual of wiping down the bar.

When Alex finally goes to sit down, it still takes a few seconds for Sid to come back to himself. He can feel his pulse thudding in his throat, and he has to swallow a couple of times just so his mouth will stop feeling dry. It’s only when someone pointedly clears their throat that he manages to look up, heading to the register and getting back to work.

He doesn’t know how many orders he brews, just goes by rote, smiling at the customers in the weird pasted-on way that he tries to avoid most days. A couple of the regulars come in, Brooke telling him to expect her at New Years and Novelist Guy looking gothic and grim thanks to the December rain. Blonde and brunette regulars – Amanda and Hilary, grande caramel macchiato and chai latte – are holding hands across their table. As Sid watches, Hilary leans in, whispering something with a smirk, and Amanda smiles and blushes at her, because apparently everyone else in this fucking city can get their shit together but him.

Something clangs loudly, and Sid realizes that he dropped one of the half full pitchers of soymilk. With a muttered apology to Julie, who looks about ready to murder him, Sid goes to grab the mop and clean up the mess.

He’s still mopping when Alex passes, rapping his knuckles on the counter. “Think about it,” he says, and then he leaves, the door chiming obnoxiously in his wake.

Sid doesn’t look up, just focuses on the floor, the rhythmic sweeps back and forth as he cleans up his mess.

-

On Christmas Eve, Sid takes the bus back up to Edmonds, switching lines at the county line and almost falling asleep on the way. His parents live on one of the hills just above [Main Street](http://static.panoramio.com/photos/large/17207749.jpg), in one of the houses that overlooks the Sound, and as soon as he gets off the bus he’s stomping up the front steps and banging on the door.

His mom lets him in, enveloping him in a hug as soon as he gets past the welcome mat. “Sidney! I’m so glad you could come early – are you ready to help with dinner?”

“Yes, mom,” Sid replies, giving her a quick squeeze back before breaking away. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Well,” Trina says, giving Sid a look until he toes off his shoes in the entryway, “your sister is still sleeping, probably, and I sent Dad to go get extra baking supplies from QFC. Do you want green beans or roasted potatoes with dinner?”

“Potatos,” Sid says, already resigned to having to peel a small mountain of them.

True to form, his mom puts him to work right away. It’s easy to get into the rhythm, though, Sid steadily peeling potatoes and carrots while his mom bustles around him, stirring and slicing. Trina puts on NPR, and the sound of it soothes Sid as he works, his mom humming in agreement every once in a while as they learn about Japanese environmentalism and the state of orca whales.

Around eleven or so, Sid hears the telltale thumps that mean Taylor’s finally decided to get up, and he braces himself just in time to be thoroughly hugged. “Hey big bro,” Taylor mumbles, only stepping back enough for Sid to turn and hug her for real.

“You sure you’re awake?” Sid teases, and Taylor looks up and scowls at him.

“It’s Christmas. I can sleep if I want,” she whines, butting his shoulder with her forehead before detaching herself and heading to the counter. “Mom, what’s there to eat?”

“You act as if we never feed you,” Trina says, carefully slicing carrots and parsnips. “You can make yourself something, can’t you?”

“Ugh,” Taylor groans, but she goes to the cupboard and grabs sandwich makings, setting herself up in between Sid and Trina at the kitchen counter.

Sid’s just gotten back into the rhythm of potato peeling when he hears the front door open over the white noise of a reporter discussing someone’s book on Detroit. A few seconds later, his father walks into the kitchen, carrying reusable grocery bags that he heaves onto the counter.

“Hi Dad,” Sid says, and Troy looks up from unpacking flour and sugar.

“Hey, Sidney,” he says. “I didn’t know you’d be here so early.”

“Just how it worked out,” Sid shrugs, turning back to the pile of root vegetables in the sink.

“Well,” Troy says gruffly, “good to see you.” He walks around the kitchen island, kissing Sid’s mom on the cheek as he goes to put the baking supplies away.

Sid and Trina go back to working in silence, Taylor being preoccupied with devouring her sandwich at the counter while Sid’s dad goes off to do something in the living room. NPR switches from talking about Detroit to discussing the history of Stravinsky’s _Rite of Spring_ , and in the middle of listening to some orchestra’s rendition, Trina starts talking.

“So,” she asks as she peels and dices, “how is the quarter going?”

“Good,” Sid says, since – well, it is, objectively speaking. Sid’s still pulling perfect grades, still has Professor Lemieux telling him about the kinds of grad school programs he could get into. If nothing else, Sid’s always been good at compartmentalizing school and his personal life.

“And your job? You’re still working with Marie-Françoise and Julie, correct?” Trina asks softly, now turning to putting things in a crockpot for stew.

Sid hums in affirmation, picking up the pile of peels left in the sink and dumping them in the compost.

“They’re nice girls,” Trina says. “You ever think about dating one of them?”

“Flower has a girlfriend, “Sid says carefully, not really looking at his mom. “And Julie’s engaged.”

“Any regulars then?” Trina continues, and out of the corner of his eye, Sid sees Taylor perk up, just about to open her mouth.

“No,” Sid says too sharply. Both Trina and Taylor stare at him, and he turns back to the potatoes, unwilling to meet their gaze. “I’m not – there isn’t anyone.”

“Oh,” Trina says after a second. “Well, just so long as you’re happy.”

“I –“ Sid starts, but then it’s hard to keep talking around the lump suddenly sticking in his throat. “Yeah,” he says, swallowing once. “I’m fine.”

There’s an awkward pause, the only sound one of NPR’s weird experimental music breaks in between news segments. Then Troy comes bursting back into the kitchen, looking around wildly. “Trina, have you seen my book? I swear I left it in the living room, but I can’t seem to find it.”

Sid’s mom sighs, rolling her eyes a little. “It’s in the bedroom, where you were reading it last night until almost one in the morning.”

“Oh,” Troy says, putting back the pile of mail left on the kitchen counter and heading for the stairs. “Thanks, honey!”

“You’re welcome, dear,” Trina replies, already back to finishing the stew. “Sid, could you and Taylor get started on the baking?”

“No problem,” Sid says, even as Taylor groans, stumbling to her feet and stomping over to stand by Sid. As they measure out flour and sugar, Trina flips the radio to Christmas music, and by the time Taylor’s singing along to _All I Want For Christmas Is You_ at the top of her lungs, Sid giggling next to her, he thinks the inquisition is over.

-

They get back from church late, stars barely shining through a thick layer of clouds. Taylor leans against the car window, humming along with the radio’s Christmas carols under her breath, and Sid just stares blankly forward, tapping his fingers against his thighs.

When they finally make it home, everyone sleepily troops upstairs, past the Christmas tree and the stacks of leftovers from dinner still on the kitchen counter. They won’t open presents until morning, so Sid heads straight into the bathroom, brushing his teeth blearily before heading into his bedroom.

A few minutes after he crawls into bed, his door creaks open and Taylor joins him, flopping onto the comforter. “Can’t fall asleep,” she mumbles into his pillow, rolling to stare at him in the dark.

Sid hums back, crossing his arms under his head as the silence stretches between them.

Finally, when Sid’s just about to drop off, Taylor asks, “So what happened? With you and Geno?”

“What?” Sid blinks, turning his head enough to look at Taylor.

Taylor cocks her head back. “You said something earlier, when we were cooking. So. What happened?”

Sid sighs, turning his head back again. “It didn’t -- it didn’t go well.”

“Oh,” Taylor says, but after that, she quiets, waiting in silence. Sid gives himself a couple of seconds to breathe before speaking again.

“The thing is,” he says, staring up at the ceiling as Taylor breathes next to him, “I know I should just – move on, or whatever, but. I keep thinking about all this stupid shit – like the way he would smile at me when he saw a cute dog, or if I made his fucking latte just right, and I – I can’t.”

Taylor sighs, and Sid feels it more than hears it. “You’re still into him?”

“I – yeah,” Sid replies, voice cracking a little. “Yeah, and it fucking sucks.”

For a second, Taylor doesn’t say anything, but then she rolls over, giving Sid a tight hug around the ribs. “You’re gonna be okay,” she mutters into his shoulder. “You know that, right? You’re gonna be okay, no matter what this guy did.”

“I know,” Sid says, wrapping an arm around Taylor’s shoulders. “I know that, but -- I still miss him.”

Taylor doesn’t respond, just holds on tighter. After a few seconds, Sid tucks her head under his chin, feeling her breath moving his t-shirt. 

They separate after a couple of minutes, Taylor rolling back to the other half of the bed. At some point, Sam comes padding in, jumping up on the bed and settling between their legs, her snuffles joining Taylor’s small snores. Sid falls asleep to the sounds of their breaths.

-

“Hey,” James says, “You doing alright, Sid?”

“Yeah,” Sid says dully, staring at his laptop and the PDFs he has to read by the end of break. On the TV someone’s talking about bridesmaid dresses, or possibly beauty pageants. He doesn’t really care.

“Uh,” James replies, showing more caution than usual. “Well, I mean, you don’t seem so good.”

“I’m _fine_ , Nealer,” Sid snaps back, refocusing on his reading. It’s all about Soviet ideology, and Sid decides to save it for later, opening up one on Berlin.

“Um,” James says again, and Sid looks up to find James staring at him, looking a little bit frightened but also incredibly determined. “Because, you know, if you have to talk about anything, you can.”

“What do you even want to know?” Sid bursts out, gripping at the arm of the sofa. “It’s not like there’s a lot to say.”

James blinks at him, and then his face twists up. “Look, I’m not trying to make you say anything you don’t want to, okay, but I am your _friend_ , Sid, and you look sad all the time, and it sucks.”

“I –“ Sid sputters, refusing to look at him even though he knows it’s childish, “I’m not sad.”

“Yes, you fucking are,” James replies. “You go to work and study and mope all over the apartment and that’s it, and it’s _sad_. Paulie even made you your favorite cookies and you didn’t even smile. Like, not even sugar cheers you up, that’s how fucking sad you are right now.”

“I don’t,” Sid starts, but then he stops. He glances at the living room window, then at the TV, anywhere that isn’t the vaguely pitying expression on James’ face. “I’m fine.”

James huffs out a breath. “You can keep saying that, or whatever, but we both know that’s not true. Now, do you want to talk about him or not?”

Sid bites at his lip, finally looking back towards his reading. “Not really.”

“I – okay,” James replies. “Just – you know you can talk to me if you have to, right? Like, I mean, when it comes to emotional shit I would pick Paulie if I had a choice, but, you know. I’m here.”

“Yeah,” Sid says, focusing hard on the article he has to read. “Yeah, I know.”

“Okay,” James says, and weirdly enough, even though Sid would totally agree that Paulie’s the better choice when talking about anything involving feelings, the fact that James is trying does make him feel a bit better.

A few seconds later, James changes the channel to some NHL game, and it’s distracting enough that Sid puts his laptop away, instead watching as the Leafs – and isn’t that a stupid as fuck name – slaughter the Lightning. Every time James cheers, it’s infectious, and by the time it’s the third period, Sid’s cheering along with him, bizarrely invested in some team from fucking Toronto.

When Sid celebrates a goal with ten minutes into the second, James looks at him sidelong from his end of the couch. “You know,” he says in what’s probably meant to be a sage tone of voice, “this is what I’m talking about. Are you going to be your regular self soon? Because trust me, Paulie and I, we like that Sid a lot better than sad Sid.”

“I,” Sid stutters, taken aback. “I – I am trying. I just, it’s hard right now, you know?”

“I get that,” James says, and thankfully he turns back to the game.

Sid has to sit and carefully breathe in and out before he can focus back on the game again. It still takes a couple of commercial breaks before he gets absorbed, relaxing back into the couch and watching the players skate around, James’ running commentary a drone in his ear.

In the break between the second and third, James stands up and stretches. “Want a beer, Sid?”

“Sure,” Sid replies, and James nods, already gone to the kitchen. A few seconds later, he’s handing over a freshly uncapped bottle of IPA, clinking their beers together and settling back into the couch.

“Hey,” James says, right in the middle of Sid taking a sip, and Sid coughs and looks at him. “You’re gonna be okay. You know that, right? You’re gonna be fine.”

Sid can’t think of anything to say back, so he swallows down the beer and nods.

James nods back, knuckling him in the shoulder and sitting a little closer on the couch. “You’re gonna be fine,” he repeats, and even though he can’t know that, even though Sid isn’t sure he believes him, the sincerity in James’ voice settles him down.

-

On New Year’s Eve, Sid wakes up to the smell of something delicious.

“Hey Paulie,” he asks, wandering into the kitchen in a worn-out tee and sweats and grabbing a mug for the coffee percolating, “What is that?”

“Black Forest Cake,” Paulie replies. “Don’t you have work today?”

“Duper told me yesterday that I shouldn’t come in,” Sid replies as he pours himself a mug, not saying the part where Duper told him that he looked sad and lonely and sleep-deprived.

Paulie hums in reply, stretching in front of the oven. When his shirt rides up, Sid can see bruises speckled over his hips. “James stayed over then?” he asks, with a nod to Paul’s stomach as he takes a sip of coffee.

The tips of Paul’s ears flush, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. “You going to help out tonight? We need to make this place presentable – I let James invite people, so god knows who’s actually showing up.”

“Yeah, I can clean,” Sid says. “Do you need any help with the cooking?”

Paul leans back against the counter, tapping his fingers on it pensively. “Maybe later? We’ll see.”

“Alright.” Sid gives him a nod and wanders into the living room, switching on the TV. Maybe he’ll watch reruns.

About two hours and four episodes of _Say Yes to the Dress_ later, James emerges from Paul’s bedroom in nothing but boxers, giving Sid a glancing pat on the shoulder before shuffling into the kitchen. Sid can just barely hear him and Paulie murmuring, but he doesn’t try to listen in, instead turning up the volume and watching as some girl preps for her Orthodox Greek wedding by demanding more sparkle.

“Hey,” Sid hears James call, and he turns just enough to see James peeking his head out of the kitchen. “Is there anyone you need to invite over? I texted all the people you work with I know, but –“

“No,” Sid says shortly. He doesn’t reach for his phone in his sweats pocket, but he thinks about it, and that’s enough to make him resolutely turn back to the TV and ignore the weird expression on James’ face.

It’s been another episode -- or maybe two -- when James wanders out of the kitchen, texting someone furiously. Sid glances over a couple of times, but James doesn’t say anything to him, just keeps texting before letting out a gusty sigh and dialing someone’s number. Sid tunes it out, instead staring as some bridesmaid complains about the color of her dress.

“Look,” Sid hears, and he turns his head just enough to see James pacing in the hall, gesturing wildly as he talks on his phone. “Just because you’re scared or whatever --” He stops, apparently interrupted, and sighs. “I know, dumbass,” he continues, wandering just beyond Sid’s hearing and into the kitchen.

Whatever. Sid keeps focusing on his reading, the white noise of the bridesmaid’s complaints letting him focus on Cold War-era Berlin instead of whatever James’ up to.

-

People start arriving at the apartment around eight, and the entire place is full by nine. Paulie puts Sid in charge of making rumaki, having him cut bacon and wrap it around marinated water chestnuts and yelling when his toothpick application isn’t straight.

“You work in food service for fuck’s sake, how are you this bad at this?” Paulie asks, and Sid glares.

“I make coffee, not fancy appetizer things,” he snipes back, but Paulie doesn’t escalate, just gives Sid an even look before passing him a beer.

“You need to loosen up,” he says, waiting until Sid takes a sip before continuing. “It’s New Years. Live a little, yeah?”

Sid rolls his eyes, but he gulps down another swig of one of Paul’s fancy local brews before continuing.

Around ten, James comes into the kitchen to kick Sid out of it. “Go mingle!” he yells, wrapping an arm around Sid’s shoulders and dragging him out into the living room.

“Nealer,” Sid says, definitely doesn’t whine, but James just gives him a smacking kiss on the cheek before going off to go bother Paulie, presumably. Fortunately, James left him near Brooke and Kris, both of whom give Sid massive hugs.

“Sid!” Brooke says, grinning at him and pushing her hair out of her face. “You look like you need a drink.”

“I think I’m good, Brooksie,” Sid protests, but Brooke blatantly ignores him, shoving a bottle of IPA in Sid’s hand while Kris laughs. “What are you guys up to?”

“Not a lot, Squid,” Brooke replies, ignoring Sid’s face in order to laugh at him. “Wanna talk shop with us? Kris thinks the Sounders won’t re-sign Andy Rose.”

“I didn’t say that,” Kris protests, pushing his hair out of his face, and Brooke shoves at him. “I didn’t, stop hitting me! All I said was maybe he might be better on another team.”

“You absolutely said that, you French Canadian heathen. As if we would get rid of Rose, right, Sid?”

“I mean,” Sid says, pausing, “I’d rather we didn’t, but, you never know. He might want to leave.”

“Fuck you, Debbie Downer. How can you come into this house with that kind of language?” Sid hears, looking over his shoulder to find Flower grinning at him while sloppily swaying with an arm around Vero’s shoulders. Both of them take over the small couch, nudging Kris out of the way. “Why are we even talking about the Sounders anyways? It’s the Seahawks who’re the big guns.”

“Just because they won the Super Bowl last year doesn’t make them the most important –“ Brooke starts, and then they’re off.

True to form, Brooke and Flower refuse to stop arguing, and the debate turns into a larger discussion of just how badly all of Seattle’s sports teams are going to flare out at the end of their seasons. Sid doesn’t know as much about anything other than the Sounders – although he did watch the Seahawks play Denver last year, he’s not a recluse – but it’s funny enough just to watch Flower and Brooke run rings around each other. Every once in a while Sid or Kris’ll comment, but mostly Sid’s content to just stand back, sip his seriously good IPA, and laugh at the face Flower makes when Brook complains about Felix Hernandez. Hearing his friends talking and laughing makes Sid feel lighter, happier than he’s been over the last few weeks, and – it’s nice, is all.

Sid’s therefore caught off his guard when someone loops an arm around his shoulders.

“Hey, Sid,” James says, “Sid, before you get mad, you need to know one thing.”

Sid twists, but the grip James has around his shoulders prevents him from turning more than just enough to see James’ face. “Wait, what?”

“Look, you need to know – I think it’s for the best,” James says cryptically, and then he releases Sid, heading off to the kitchen to make out with Paulie more, presumably.

Sid blinks, and looks at Flower. “What the fuck was that?”

Flower opens her mouth to respond – but then she shuts it, eyes flicking to a place right over Sid’s shoulder.

“Sid,” Sid hears, and his stupid, traitorous heart kicks faster even as he turns around.

“Geno,” he says, clenching his fingers around his bottle. “What are you doing here?”

“Lazy invite me,” Geno says distractedly, reaching out halfway to – to do what, Sid doesn’t know, but he stops abruptly, his hand hanging in the air. “Sid, I – can talk?”

“What the actual fuck,” Flower says from somewhere behind Sid, and Geno startles, wide-eyed.

Sid looks back over his shoulder and shakes his head, just a little, before turning back to Geno. Biting down his instinctive no, Sid nods. “I – yeah. We can talk.”

Geno screws his face up in a little frown, looking around. “Can go other place?”

“Sure,” Sid says dully. Better to keep Sid’s embarrassment in private, rather than in front of all their friends. With a jerky nod to Flower, who looks like she’d bite someone’s head off if it weren’t for the hand Vero has clenched down on her thigh, and everyone else, who just look confused, he leads Geno over to his bedroom, shutting the door behind them as they go.

“So,” Sid says, crossing his arm and staring at Geno, “talk.”

Geno doesn’t. Instead he looks around the room, taking in Sid’s posters, the photos of his family he has tacked up on the walls, the stacks of books and printed articles in neat piles next to his desk. Sid makes a noise, hoping maybe it’ll make Geno stop – he doesn’t get why Geno’s looking, why he’s acting as if he gives a shit about the way Sid lives his life. Geno’s already rejected him, so he shouldn’t – it shouldn’t matter to him.

Finally, Geno says, still not looking at Sid, “Think I make mistake.”

“Yeah?” Sid asks. He wants to sound dismissive, above it, but his voice cracks.

“Yes,” Geno says, finally looking at Sid, like the sound of his voice breaking meant he had permission. “Think – not think through, when tell you no.”

Sid stares at him, his fingers clenching around his arms. “What is there to think through? You obviously don’t want – you don’t want what I want,” he finishes, glancing at the window, tightening his jaw.

Geno makes a frustrated noise, and when Sid looks back at him, he’s taken a step forward, closer to Sid. “Maybe I want, Sid.”

“But you don’t,” Sid says blankly. “You said you didn’t.”

“Not say that,” Geno says, then stops, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe I think about it, think about me and you. I think, what had with Sid was good, was important, but not know why. Maybe when you first ask, I get scared, but then I think about it, talk to people, and then I less scared. Maybe,” Geno says rapid-fire, leaning closer as he speaks, “I want you, Sid, want to try being with you.”

Sid blinks. It takes a few seconds to process, Geno’s words almost echoing in the small space of his bedroom. He opens his mouth to try and say something, then shuts it. As the silence stretches on, he watches Geno twist his fingers in the hem of his shirt, looking down into Sid’s face.

“You,” he says finally, “you, you do want me.”

“Yes,” Geno says, taking Sid’s words as permission to step closer yet again. The space between them is very small. “I want – want to try, with you.”

“Oh,” Sid says. If he concentrates he can hear James yelling through the door, leading everyone in counting down to the New Year, but in Sid’s room it’s almost silent. “Oh,” he repeats, still staring at Geno.

Geno looks back at him, his eyes wide and huge. One of the first things Sid grew to like about him was how much he could read on Geno’s face, how open his expressions were. Now he can see the fear, the worry that Sid’ll say no – but also the hope.

“Okay,” Sid says, uncrossing his arms, taking that last step to close the difference. “Okay,” he says, and when he reaches out towards Geno, still not sure whether he can touch him, Geno ducks in, one hand careful on Sid’s cheek.

When he kisses Sid, it’s too dry and not enough pressure and Sid wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Geno stops, and Sid blinks. He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes.

“Sid,” Geno says, voice soft, “need to go, but -- we do this? I think I need slow, but -- yes?”

“Yeah,” Sid agrees, a little breathless. “Yeah, we can do this.”

“Okay,” Geno says, and smiles. 

-

Fifteen minutes into Sid’s first shift of the new year, he looks up at the sound of the door chime to see Geno walking in, hands shoved in his jacket pockets and nose in his collar. When he spots Sid, he pulls out a hand to wave a little, and smiles.

“Hi,” Sid says, hoping that if he’s flushing, Flower can’t see it from where she’s standing behind the espresso maker.

“Hi Sid,” Geno replies, and if Sid feels better hearing the way Geno draws out the i in Sid’s name, well, no one needs to know it.

“The usual?” Sid asks, but he’s already grabbing a cup, uncapping the Sharpie with his teeth and getting to work scrawling Geno’s name. “How was class?”

Geno makes a despairing noise like something out of an Animal Planet special on elephant seals. “Gross,” he replies, wrinkling his nose. It’s awful how Sid finds it cute. “Chapter on anatomy, very difficult. Words are all consonants, no vowels. Terrible.”

Sid thinks about asking if he’d like help, but then stops halfway to saying it. Better to wait, ease into things gradually.

Of course, then Geno says, looking equal parts hopeful and nervous, “Could you help? If not too much trouble – is okay if can’t. Will understand.”

“I, yeah, if you want,” Sid replies, probably too quickly, but he can’t bring himself to care, because Geno beams at Sid like he’s relieved and disbelieving at the same time.

“You _best_ ,” Geno declares, sliding his change across the counter before wandering off to go wait for his drink at the other end of the bar.

When Sid passes Flower on his way to start pouring shots of espresso, he gets a poke to the hip. “I thought we didn’t like him anymore,” she hisses in his ear as she ostensibly starts steaming milk.

“Well maybe we do,” he whispers, and Flower sucks in a breath.

“Did something happen at New Year’s?” she asks, and when Sid doesn’t respond, she pokes him again. “ _Sid_.”

“Later,” Sid replies, and hurries to put together Geno’s latte.

“You can’t just fucking brush me off, Crosby,” Flower hisses, but all of Sid’s focus is required in the pouring of this milk foam, and that is why he doesn’t say anything back. It isn’t cowardice at all.

Sid has an awful time focusing his entire shift. Every couple of minutes his gaze just slides over to Geno, working at one of the corner tables, and from the way Geno occasionally looks up and smiles slyly at him before turning back to his textbook, Sid knows he’s been caught, but can’t really bring himself to care. When he has to go take out the trash, he makes sure to take a route that goes by Geno’s table – which, okay, he can feel Flower’s stare drilling holes into the back of his head, but whatever, he can withstand her death glare any day.

As he walks past, though he sees that Geno’s barely done any work at all, which means that Sid’s not the only one who’s been totally distracted, so there.

When Flower, after a solid fifteen minutes at sighing pointedly at Sid, makes him go wipe down the tables right by Geno’s, Geno catches him by the wrist as he passes, tugging him closer.

“Hey,” Sid says.

“Hey,” Geno repeats, and then asks, “What time shift over?”

“Four,” Sid replies automatically, and Geno grins.

“I walk with you to bus stop? Think I go home then,” he replies, and Sid almost hurts his neck nodding so hard.

“Yeah,” he says, “yeah, that – that sounds good.”

“See you then,” Geno says, only then relinquishing Sid’s wrist, which feels a whole lot colder without the contact.

The minute Sid’s shift is over, he practically runs from out of the back room, yanking his apron over his head and shoving it into his messenger bag. “See you later, bye,” he shoots to Flower, who shakes her head at him as he yanks open the door and finds Geno waiting, leaning against one of the lampposts and smiling.

They don’t say anything as they walk towards the metro station, just bumping shoulders companionably, but even just the silence makes Sid happier than he’s felt in a while

“So,” Geno says carefully, after they’ve walked about halfway to the stop, “I think, still take slow, but, we go on date soon, yes?”

“I, uh,” Sid stutters, blinking up at Geno. “I. Yes?”

Geno heaves a huge breath, and it takes a few seconds for Sid to realize that it’s relief. “You okay with that?”

“I – I mean, I want to,” Sid says. “I just – you want to, right?” he adds, suddenly nervous of the thought of Geno not wanting to, even though he knows it's a bit ridiculous, since Geno was the one who asked in the first place.

“Yes,” Geno replies, nodding furiously. “Yes, I want.”

“Oh,” Sid says. “Well. That’s good.”

Geno snorts, but he also brushes Sid’s hand quickly before taking his hand away again. It sparks something pleasantly warm in the pit of Sid’s stomach and makes his cheeks feel hot.

They wait together at the bus station, shoulders bumping and fingers brushing, each tiny movement making Sid’s skin light up. Every once in a while Geno drags his thumb across Sid’s knuckles, a bit of pressure before he moves his hand away, and every time Sid keeps staring straight ahead, sure that if he even looks a little bit at Geno, his feelings will be written all over his face. It’s almost a relief when Sid’s bus arrives, except for the part where it isn’t.

“So,” he says quickly, as half the bus gets off, “I’ll see you?”

“I text,” Geno promises, smiling at Sid and waving a little when Sid finally climbs onboard.

As the bus drives away, Sid stares out the window, looking back at the bus station. His fingers are still tingling, just a little.

-

They meet up on a Sunday, right in the middle of the afternoon. January is always a crapshoot for the weather, constantly switching between incredibly windy and rainy as fuck, and Sid doesn’t take any chances, layering up in a fleece and rain shell before getting on the bus.

Geno’s waiting for him when Sid gets off at 3rd and Pike, hands in his jacket pockets and floppy grey beanie jammed on over his ears. “Hi Sid,” he says, and Sid smiles back, pushing through the crowd around the bus stop and jogging a little to reach him.

“So,” Geno says, once Sid’s fully in-step with him and they’re heading down Pike, “where you want to go?”

“In the Market?” Sid asks, dodging some tourists who are focusing more on their guidebook than where the fuck they’re going. He nearly falls over, tripping on some of the cobblestones, and Geno grabs his elbow, yanking him upright and pulling him closer. “I’m kind of hungry -- could we go get some food? There’s a really good bakery here.”

“Pastry?” Geno asks, looking interested. “Okay, we go get that.”

Pike Place Market is as full as ever, still clogged with tourists and the occasional car stupidly trying to drive down the street, and they have to dodge more than one gawking family on their way down the sidewalk. As they go Geno keeps looking over, checking out the flower stalls and buskers, and stopping Sid so he can take a picture of the giant brass pig on the corner. Normally in the Market Sid tries to get wherever he’s going as soon as possible, shouldering past the slow walkers and picture takers, but with Geno it feels a little easier to slow down and take everything in.

After a detour to stop and stare at the fishmongers, who’re tossing around a couple of salmon for the benefit of the crowd spilling out into the street, Sid pulls on Geno’s elbow a little, nodding towards the other side of the street. “Pastry?” he asks, and Geno laughs.

“Should know you pushy,” he replies, biting off a grin as Sid sputters at him.

“I’m not _pushy_ , I’m hungry,” Sid replies, but Geno just chuckles.

“Whatever you say,” he replies, jostling Sid a little and smirking at him. 

After that, it doesn’t take quite so long to get to the [French bakery](http://cindyhkim.files.wordpress.com/2012/08/interior.jpg), though they do have to stop to watch the workers at Beechers make cheese. It’s a little bit disgusting to see all the curds and whey, but still, both Geno and Sid end up staring in horrified fascination until Sid’s stomach demands they go get food, leading him to drag Geno away.

Once they make it inside _Le Panier_ , Geno laughs as Sid tries to decide which pastry to try, staring down the pastry cases full of rows of eclaires and tartes. “Sid have trouble, sweet tooth too big?” he asks, and Sid scowls at him.

“Shut up, it’s a process,” he shoots back, turning back to the glass cases and scoping out the options. If he picks the strawberry napoleon, there would be fresh fruit too – but if he picks macarons, then he could have a couple of flavors and not feel bad about it.

“What you pick?” Geno asks again while the sales clerk sighs at them both, and Sid huffs out a breath.

“Well,” he starts, “I might want the strawberry napoleon – but I could have macarons, though.”

Geno shrugs at him. “You get napoleon, I get macarons. We each try.” When Sid blinks at him, he gives Sid a quick smile before turning back to the sales clerk.

“You paying together or separate?” she asks, and Sid steps forward, about to pay for his half, when Geno hands her a twenty.

“I pay,” he tells her, and when Sid opens his mouth to protest, he throws Sid a wink. “Must be fast.”

“Hey,” Sid protests, but only half-heartedly. Geno pokes his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, and it startles a laugh out of Sid, enough for the sales clerk to stop looking bored when she tells them to enjoy their food and hands over Geno’s small coffee.

They choose one of the tall tables by the windows, close enough to see people passing by under the awnings, and start in on the pastries. Sid takes a bite of the napoleon and can’t help a tiny noise. It’s delicious – the strawberries are fresh and the cream is light, and together it tastes amazing.

When he looks up, Geno’s staring at him, color high in his cheeks.

“What?” Sid asks, but Geno just blinks at him.

“You have,” he says, and reaches out with a thumb, wiping away some cream left on Sid’s lip. Sid’s frozen in place the entire time he does it, and Geno’s bright red, not able to look Sid in the eyes.

“Um,” Sid stutters out, “thanks,” and Geno busies himself with his coffee, the tops of his cheeks glowing. After a few seconds, Sid returns to his pastry, eating a little more carefully, though every once in a while he meets Geno’s gaze and flushes

As they eat, Geno occasionally nudges Sid with an elbow, pointing out pedestrians as they pass by. One woman passes with a tiny dog under her arm, a fluffball of a thing, and Geno mutters, “Look like her baby, or she look like dog,” startling a giggle out of Sid.

“Don’t be mean,” he protests, but not that hard. In return, Geno just smirks at him, taking a sip of coffee with an innocent expression Sid absolutely doesn’t believe.

Finally they finish their pastries, Geno protesting that he can’t finish his macaron and sliding it over to Sid before Sid can say no. It is delicious, but Sid’s a lot more distracted by the look on Geno’s face than he is by the pastry, like he’s cataloguing every way he can make Sid smile and filing it away.

When they finish, throwing away their trash and stepping out under the awning, Sid looks up at Geno and asks, “So, where do you want to go?”

Geno hums, hands tucked in the pockets of his jacket, and makes a considering face. “See ocean?”

“Sure,” Sid replies, turning to head up Pike Place, Geno just at his shoulder.

On their way they stop in front of the original Starbucks, ignoring the crowd at the door and instead heading for the buskers just by the windows. Today there’s a bluegrass group, complete with a washtub bass and an honest-to-god washboard, not to mention a banjo. As the lead singer starts wailing about lost love or possibly his dog, Geno laughs and nudges Sid.

“Look like guy from _Dangerous Catch_ ,” he says, which, Sid has to agree. It’s something about the beard and the trucker cap.

“Maybe lose boat, fish, sing sad song,” Geno suggests, leaning over to whisper in Sid’s ear, and Sid bursts out laughing, the stupid giggle that he wishes wasn’t quite so embarrassing. One of the hipsters in a flannel and Buddy Holly glasses glares at him and Geno, but now that Sid’s going, it’s hard to stop, especially with Geno smiling like he’s just done something amazing.

“We should go,” Sid manages through his laughter, and Geno nods, grabbing Sid’s elbow before the hipster guy starts yelling at them.

They weave their way through the crowd, ending up next to the Turkish candy shop and the hot dog store. The park to the side of the market is overcrowded as usual with tourists and people protesting what might be the current stance on marijuana, making it probably not worth it to head over, even if the view is amazing.

“Hey,” Sid says, nudging Geno a little and gesturing up the street, “The sculpture park is just a few blocks up that way -- we can head there instead?”

For a second, Geno pauses, considering, but then he nods, stepping back just a touch so Sid can lead the way.

The walk to the park is a little long, but it isn’t terrible outside, for once – the rain has abated, and Sid’s cozy in just his rain shell and fleece, while Geno has on his terrible overly large grey beanie that somehow looks cute on him. When they make it out of the crush of the Market, they’re able to walk side by side again, hands brushing every so often as they walk.

After a couple blocks of grazing Geno’s fingers, Sid steels himself, and on the next pass, grabs for Geno’s hand.

Sid can hear Geno sucking in a breath, but he doesn’t say anything, and after a few steps, he adjusts Sid’s grip, locking their fingers together. It makes something warm grow in Sid’s stomach, and he can’t quite keep the grin off his face as they walk along Elliot, on the ridge just above the piers.

Sid’s been to the sculpture park a couple times since it opened, and he still thinks it’s a little weird. He’s not quite sure why, exactly, the city needs a statue of a giant typewriter eraser, or an ampersand on top of a pole, or, most infamously, the naked men fountain. Still, as they head down the bike path along the waterfront, Geno’s thumb running over his fingers, he’s not exactly complaining. As they wander, they occasionally pass other pedestrians, half of which look like art students and the other half like tourists. Once, a commuter on a bike nearly runs Sid over, and after that Geno tugs Sid a little closer, enough for their shoulders to bump with every other step.

They head up the hill towards the Calder sculpture just on the ridge, a huge red structure stretching up towards the sky. When they stop in front of it, Geno makes a noise.

“What?” Sid asks, turning his head enough to look up at Geno.

“Look like giraffe,” Geno replies, and Sid can’t help laughing.

“I mean, yeah, kind of,” he giggles, and Geno starts laughing too, deeper and fuller. Seeing him like this, laughing openly and grinning at Sid, makes Sid realize just how much he’s missed having Geno around.

“Come on,” he says, tugging on their hands to get Geno moving. “Let’s go down there, in the maze thing.”

Geno follows Sid amiably enough, occasionally tugging Sid back. “Sid walk too fast,” he says, poking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, and Sid scrunches up his nose at him.

“I do not, you’re just lazy,” he says, and Geno laughs again.

“No, that Nealer. I better.”

“You are,” Sid agrees, unable to keep from flushing a little when he says it.

Instead of preening, though, like Sid would expect, Geno just keeps smiling at him, his grip on Sid’s hand tightening. It lodges something in Sid’s throat, hard to talk around, and he has to swallow before finally managing, “Want to go look at some more stuff?”

“Okay,” Geno says easily, allowing Sid to tug him along back down the hill. 

They get back on the path, the sea breeze coming off the water whipping through Sid’s jacket and making him shiver. At Geno’s noise, he says, “I forget how much colder it is close to the waterfront.”

Geno hums, and then lets go of Sid’s hand. Sid’s about to protest when Geno instead wraps his arm around Sid’s shoulder, tugging him close.

“Thanks,” Sid says quietly, tilting his head to look at Geno.

Geno smiles back. “Welcome,” he says back, hand warm even through Sid’s jacket.

The path leads them to a small beach, covered in massive rocks and driftwood scattered by the tide. It’s far from warm enough to dip their feet in the water, so instead they sit on some of the boulders surrounding the beach, knees pulled up to their chests. Geno still stays close though, and they end up pressed together so their shoulders bump and knees knock against each other.

“Beautiful,” Geno says, and Sid looks out across the Sound, Mt. Olympus barely visible past the islands and cloud cover, and agrees. It is beautiful like this, the lights of the boats and houses on the coast glittering, the ferry a small dot slowly coming to shore. Next to him Geno’s all heat, constant and warm, and Sid’s acutely aware of all the places they’re touching, the brushes of skin when their wrists bump.

“I never said thanks,” Sid blurts out, staring out at the ocean instead of at Geno’s face. “For the date, I mean. So, uh -- thanks. For that.”

Geno shakes his head, barely visible out of the corner of Sid’s eye. “No, I thank you, for letting me.”

“Yeah, well,” Sid says, turning to look at Geno only to find Geno looking back. “I mean. After New Year’s, and all that -- well, I wasn’t going to say no.”

“Still could’ve,” Geno replies, still staring right at Sid. His eyes are very dark. “Would understand.”

“Yeah, but, I was serious, about wanting this. That -- that didn’t exactly change, from before,” Sid says finally, biting on his lower lip. “I still want you.”

At that, Geno smiles, and it’s like the first smile all over again, bright and charming and drawing Sid in. “I want you too,” he says. “Maybe always want, but. Not scared now.”

Sid doesn’t know what to say back, can’t think of the right words, so instead he smiles back at Geno, knocking their knees together. “Oh,” he manages finally, even as Geno leans closer, reaching out a hand to touch Sid’s cheek, his thumb resting under Sid’s ear. “Oh.”

“Sid,” Geno says. He’s very close. “Sid, can I --”

“Yeah,” Sid says, a little too quick. “Yeah, you can.”

“Good,” Geno replies, and then he leans in all the way.

When they kiss, Geno’s lips are warm and a little chapped. His thumb fits just below Sid’s ear at the hinge of his jaw, and as he presses closer, kissing Sid hard, he thumbs at the joint, pushing just a little. Sid can’t stifle his groan as he kisses back, reaching out to hold onto Geno’s shoulders, one hand settling at the nape of Geno’s neck, fingers tangling in the softness of Geno’s hair.

They kiss until Sid’s lips are buzzing, until it’s not so much kissing as trading breaths. Geno’s half leaning over Sid, their legs tangled together from their efforts to get closer. Sid’s legs are pins and needles and he thinks he has some muscle cramps and his spine is stiff as a board, but he doesn’t care about any of it, just about getting Geno closer still.

“Sid,” he hears, and slowly he opens his eyes to find Geno staring back at him so intently that he can feel his cheeks heating up.

“Geno,” he says, and Geno strokes his thumb down his jawline, dragging it down the length of Sid’s neck.

“Maybe we go somewhere else,” he says, laughing a little. “My back hurt,” and oh, yeah, maybe kissing not outside would be good.

“Yeah,” Sid says, unable to keep himself from giggling, “yeah, okay, let’s do that.”

They hold hands all the way back to the bus station, Geno’s thumb stroking along Sid’s knuckles, and every once in a while he looks around furtively before bending down to kiss Sid, short and sweet. Sid can’t stop smiling.

-

“You look disgustingly happy,” Flower says, scowling at Sid as she leans against the counter. 

“Do not,” Sid says back, but he doesn’t really care, because maybe he does -- he can’t see his face, after all. It’s totally possible. Instead, he focuses on Christine, who’s apparently doing inventory and gesturing at the register with a pained expression.

“Ugh,” Flower groans, giving Sid a look as he pulls his apron on over his head. “Your date was good then?”

“Yep,” Sid replies, popping the “p” as he signs onto the register.

“Gross,” Flower says meaningfully.

“Like you and Vero are any better. I remember you guys at New Year’s,” Sid replies, straightening the weird treats that sit in front of the register so they’re lined up perfectly.

“Really? _Really_? We were not the only people being disgusting at New Year’s, and besides, Vero can never be disgusting,” Flower tells him grumpily. “She’s beautiful and perfect in every way.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sid replies, rolling his eyes. “You don’t have to remind me just how great your girlfriend is. I’ve heard it for the last year.”

“Can so,” Flower replies, flicking Sid on the arm. “If you’re going to be gross and sappy, then I get to make fun of you. There’s the rules.”

“ _Them’s_ the rules,” Sid corrects, and Flower sticks her tongue out at him.

“Whatever, loser,” Flower tells him, flicking him in the ear. “Go start up some more Pike’s Place Roast, yeah? Christine’s giving us the death stare.”

“Sure thing,” Sid says. He can’t keep the grin off his face.

When he gets off his shift five hours later, he has a text from Paulie. _james and i will be at his parent’s place. see you monday._

Sid has to bite his own cheek from grinning. _subtle_ , he texts back, and then he texts Geno.

-

“I bring food,” Geno says as soon as he enters the apartment, holding a bag of takeout and grinning at Sid.

“What kind?” Sid asks, taking the bag from him and bringing it into the kitchen, setting it down on the counter so he can pull out some real plates.

“Thai,” Geno says, pulling open drawers until Sid points towards the one with the silverware, to the left of the fridge. “I get same as when you brought -- is okay, yes?”

“I,” Sid says, startled. “Yeah, that’s fine -- you remembered?”

Geno doesn’t say anything, and Sid turns to find him looking a little sheepish even as he grabs a couple of forks. “I remember lots about you,” he says..

Sid blinks, awkwardly holding the carton of pad thai and staring at Geno. “Oh,” he says, and then he has to smile at Geno, the stretch of it making his cheeks hurt. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Geno repeats, but it’s too fond to be mocking. So’s the hip check he delivers to bump Sid into the counter, pushing him into the cabinets so that the handles punch his hip. “Sid sure is okay?”

“Shut up,” Sid retorts, reaching over to grab a fork. Geno laughs and holds it just out of reach, obnoxiously taking advantage of his five inches on Sid. “Geno,” he whines, and Geno smirks at him, waving the fork at him.

“Ask nice,” Geno says, and Sid frowns at him, giving him a rabbit punch to the stomach. “That not nice, Sid!” he laughs, dancing away, and Sid frowns harder.

“Don’t be a fucking bully,” he replies, but in the face of Geno sticking his tongue out at him, eyes crinkled as he laughs, Sid can’t exactly keep up the frustration. He walks around Geno to sit on the couch heavily, throwing his feet up on the coffee table and peering over the back. “Such a bully,” he repeats.

Geno just smirks at him, coming around the couch and crowding into Sid’s space, sticking his legs out and over Sid’s so that their feet are hopelessly tangled together. “We watch show?” he asks, finally passing Sid a fork. “Want something stupid, trashy.”

“That’s not all I watch,” Sid protests, but when Geno grabs the remote and puts on TLC, well, Sid’s not exactly going to complain about it.

They make it through one episode of some reality show about bridesmaids before Geno gets restless, switching over to Animal Planet so they can watch a nature documentary about penguins. They finish the Thai food about fifteen minutes into it, and Sid carefully extracts himself from under Geno’s legs, picking up the empty cartons and the forks to take them over to the kitchen.

When he comes back, Geno looks up from the screen and smiles at him, grabbing at his wrist. “Come here,” he says, tugging until Sid follows him down, sitting a whole lot closer than he was earlier. Geno casually rearranges his limbs, pulling and pushing until Sid’s half in his lap, one of Geno’s arms slung around his shoulders.

“Perfect,” Geno declares, once Sid’s arranged exactly to his liking, and then he turns back to the screen.

After a couple stunned seconds, Sid decides not to question it, and goes back to watching tiny baby penguins waddle around Antarctica. 

The documentary’s fairly long, but Geno stays invested, making occasional cooing noises as the penguins slide around and give each other pebbles. Sid watches for a while, but eventually the angle is hard on his neck, so very carefully he rests his head on Geno’s shoulder, turning so that he’s even closer.

Geno’s grip on his shoulder tightens.

The documentary ends, but Sid’s feeling too lazy to change the channel and Geno evidently agrees, the remote staying untouched on the arm of the couch. Instead, they lay around, quietly talking about classes and Sid’s work.

“Alex want to see you again,” Geno says, and Sid can almost hear him pouting. “Think now we dating, can just say whatever to you.”

“I mean, if he’s your friend,” Sid replies. “I don’t mind, really.”

“Sasha worst though,” Geno whines, turning his head so he can look at Sid from under his lashes. “Total asshole.”

“He can’ t be that bad,” Sid says, tilting his head so he’s facing Geno a little more instead of the TV screen. From here, he can smell Geno’s body wash and the laundry detergent he uses. “Don’t be mean.”

“Will,” Geno insists, shifting a little so Sid has to lift his head. “Will, will, will,” he repeats, sing-song, until Sid has to tilt his head up to kiss him quiet.

The minute he does, Geno makes a small noise and kisses him firmly back. He tastes vaguely of curry as he licks into Sid’s mouth, just on the right side of sloppy, and bites down on Sid’s bottom lip. Sid gasps back, one of his hands grabbing Geno’s shoulder and pulling him closer, the other gripping Geno’s hip.

They kiss until Sid’s neck gets stiff, and he breaks away from Geno’s mouth with a gasp, hands still clutching at Geno’s hip and back. “Sorry,” he gets out, breathing heavy as Geno moves to kiss wetly down Sid’s jaw, scraping his teeth so the thin skin stings. “I just -- you’re making my neck hurt.”

“Need to move?” Geno asks, voice low. Sid can feel the vibrations of it against his skin.

“I, yeah,” Sid says, unable to keep down a giggle as Geno leaves small, light kisses that almost tickle. “Would you stop that?”

Geno doesn’t let up, though, just pushes a little until Sid’s sliding down the couch and Geno’s resting on top of him, all of his weight holding Sid down. “You like?” he asks, sucking a bruise under Sid’s ear, and yeah, okay, Sid likes that.

“Yes,” he says, sounding strangled and unable to care about it, “yes, just -- keep going.”

“Okay,” Geno agrees, bracketing Sid’s head with his elbows and getting his hands in Sid’s hair, just enough to tug. Sid squirms under him, getting his hands under Geno’s t-shirt to feel all that warm skin, and Geno hums happily at him, ducking his head down to continue his attentions towards Sid’s neck.

When Geno sucks the next hickey right under the first, Sid’s hips snap up, and the friction makes him moan. Geno lifts his head to stare at him, gaze hot, right before turning back and biting at the bruise.

Sid lets out a choked sound, grinding his hips again, and swears he can feel Geno smiling into his neck.

They get into a good rhythm then, Sid relishing the feeling of Geno completely covering him, solid and warm. Geno gets a thigh between Sid’s legs so he has something to move against, and the adjustment has Sid making noises that would otherwise be embarrassing, but he can feel that Geno’s into them so he can’t bring himself to care. “Geno,” he whines when Geno keeps grinding down, his fingers reflexively pulling and releasing in Sid’s hair. “Fuck, Geno, fuck --”

“What you want, Sid?” Geno asks, every word rough and cracked.

Sid can’t think about that, can’t decide what he wants other than Geno and more and now. “You,” he settles for, hands scrabbling up and down Geno’s back, tracing the planes of his shoulders and the line of his spine. “You, I want you, Geno --”

“Okay,” Geno replies, and his eyes are dark and so very warm. “I give you me,” and then he’s ducking down to kiss Sid, hard and sure.

After that they start stripping down, whatever concerns Sid might have had about getting the couch dirty get lost in the haze of Geno kissing him, touching him carefully, like he’s infinitely precious. While Sid manages to get his t-shirt off without a hitch, Geno doesn’t, one arm trapped in the sleeve for at least five seconds while Sid giggles, too busy laughing to help.

“You useless,” Geno says, almost but not quite whining as Sid runs out of air from laughing. “Just laugh at me, not help me get naked? Worst boyfriend ever --” and then he stops, eyes wide.

Sid stares back at him, all the laughter gone. “You,” he says, even as his heart beats a little too fast and his hands grip Geno’s hips a little too hard, “you mean that? Boyfriends?”

Geno bites his lip, the shirt stuck around his neck and hair all fucked up from trying to get it off. “Yes?” he says, sounding unsure. “That okay with you?”

Sid sucks in a breath, because yes, yes, it sounds more than fucking okay. “Yes,” he manages, reaching up to pull off Geno’s shirt and unable to keep from beaming. “Yes, that’s okay, Geno, I -- _yes_ ,” and then he’s pretty sure he has to kiss Geno or else he’s going to -- fuck, he doesn’t know, burn up or explode from just how fucking happy he is.

Fortunately, Geno seems pretty intent on getting with the program, kissing back sloppily before pulling away. “You distract me,” he says, pulling a mock-angry face before grinning at Sid. “Supposed to get naked.”

And oh, yeah, seeing Geno naked would be -- well. It’d be good. Definitely, definitely good.

When Geno shucks off his jeans and boxers, throwing them in the vague direction of a chair before getting to work on sliding Sid’s down his hips, Sid’s almost too busy staring to help. It’s not until Geno says his name a few times that he manages to lift his hips, helping kick off his jeans and boxers before returning to staring at Geno. He’s totally justified in staring, though -- Geno may be long and lean, but his dick is _big_. Sid definitely wants to get his mouth on it.

Before he can say that, though, Geno’s back over him, and this time when he grinds down their cocks slide together, and okay, maybe blowing Geno can wait.

It doesn’t take long for them to find the rhythm from before, Geno bracing himself above Sid on one elbow while wrapping his other hand around both their dicks. As he strokes them Sid clutches at his back, fingernails catching on skin and saying who knows what. He wants to hurry Geno up, or make him slow down, and he’s pretty sure he’s saying so, but Geno’s just ignoring him, instead putting all of his focus on jerking them off in time, mouthing wetly at Sid’s neck.

“Geno,” Sid gasps as Geno does something with his thumb and the head of Sid’s dick that makes him squirm, makes the heat pool in his stomach all that much faster. “Geno, you --”

“Want to make you come,” Geno says, looking up at Sid through his lashes, and oh fuck that’s hot. “Want to see what you look like. See how pretty you look, Sid, want you --” and then he groans, tightening his grip just enough to make Sid’s spine melt. 

“Fuck,” Sid moans, too worked up to keep his eyes open. Once he shuts them, though, Geno’s hand on his dick and his weight pushing Sid down are too much for him to handle, too much for him to last much longer.

“Geno,” he says, breathy and desperate, “Geno, Geno you’ve got to --” and then Geno twists his wrist just right and Sid’s shuddering, coming all over Geno’s hand.

As soon as Sid comes back to himself, he opens his eyes to find Geno still braced over him, eyes shut and mouth open as he gets himself off. Sid wants to help, so he reaches down to join in, his hand covering Geno’s.

“Fuck, Sid,” Geno says, voice cracked, and it’s because of Sid, Geno sounds like that because of Sid.

“Come on,” Sid says back, “come on,” and at that Geno freezes up, coating both their hands as he quietly shakes apart. With an exhale, he drops on top of Sid, burying his face in Sid’s neck.

For a few seconds, or maybe minutes, they lay there on the couch, Sid turning his face so he can breathe in the smell of Geno’s shampoo and feel the softness of Geno’s hair. Geno in turn taps his fingers on Sid’s shoulder, lips moving slowly over Sid’s pulse point.

Finally Sid says quietly, “We should get up.”

Geno shakes his head and kisses Sid’s neck a little harder.

“Geno,” Sid says, voice still soft. “Come on, Geno, we should clean up -- we’re all sticky.”

At that, Geno lifts his head to look at Sid, wrinkling his nose. “But then bed?” he asks, and, well. Like Sid’s ever been that good at saying no to him.

“Yeah,” he says back, grinning at Geno. “And then bed.”

-

If there’s anything better than Green Lake in April, Sid doesn’t know it. There are baby ducklings everywhere swimming after their mothers and flowers blooming in huge bursts of color, dozens of people power-walking and running with their dogs and biking with their babies, and when the sun finally does come out, there probably isn’t a better place to be in the entire city.

“You not lying,” Geno says, swinging their hands as they walk past the pier and the paddleboat rental shack, thirty minutes after the end of Sid’s afternoon shift. “This place beautiful in spring.”

“I told you,” Sid says, tipping his head up to look at Geno. “Definitely the best.”

“Yes, yes, you so smart,” Geno says, rolling his eyes, but he’s grinning at Sid -- not one of his smirks, the kind he likes to use to tease, but rather something soft and small, something just for Sid. “Glad you bring me.”

“I’m glad I did too,” Sid says back.

Geno looks around carefully, then tugs Sid to the side, pulling them both right onto the entryway of the dock, just under the shade of a tree. “Very glad,” he says, and then he leans down to kiss Sid, slow and sweet.

It’s a good enough kiss that when Geno does pull away, Sid feels a little dazed, blinking up at Geno. Then, of course, his stomach starts growling.

“Sid hungry?” Geno asks, poking his tongue out through his teeth and smirking at Sid. “We need dinner?”

“Shut up,” Sid says back, poking him weakly before pulling them both off the dock. “Let’s go get some food, yeah? It was a long shift.”

“We go to Dick’s?” Geno asks, sounding far too delighted about it, and seriously, Sid’s going to kill Flower someday for telling Geno about Dick’s Drive-In’s existence.

“Yeah,” he sighs, because a vanilla shake and fries do sound really good right about now, “yeah, we can go to Dick’s.”

Geno laughs. With another tug, they’re back to walking around the lake, hands swinging as Geno rubs his thumb over Sid’s fingers, and yeah. There isn’t a place Sid would rather be than right [here.](http://www.mikereidphotography.com/Seattle,%20Sunsets%20and%20Miscellaneous/slides/Brilliant%20Greenlake%20Seattle%20Sunset.jpg)


End file.
